


The Beauty of This Mess

by Amaria_Anna_D, Entropyrose



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-06-28 02:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaria_Anna_D/pseuds/Amaria_Anna_D, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: Special Agent Frank Castle is used to taking on the hard cases. When his team is called in to protect someone, it usually means there is a massive shit storm on the horizon. Little does he know that one DA is about to take things from "hard" to "nearly impossible." Matt Murdock maybe a blind Omega but he will be damned if he lets anything or anyone stand in the way of bringing down a corrupt official with fingers in nearly every pie imaginable. Neither man is expecting them to feel an intense attraction let alone the undeniable pull of the mating bond.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note by Entropyrose: 
> 
> It is after several negative comments that I feel the necessity to go in and put yet ANOTHER warning before anybody starts reading this. 
> 
> This fic is tagged NON-CON for a reason. No, there is no rape. For those who need it spelled out, there is mention of it , there is rape-culture, there is an ableist feel throughout the fic because of thier world's views on Alphas, Beta's, Omegas and thier prospective roles. 
> 
> Don't leave comments about how much of an "asshole" Frank is. Don't leave comments about how "rapey" some of the language is. IT IS DONE ON PURPOSE, TO ILLUSTRATE A WORLD VERY SIMILAR TO OUR OWN. Do not be a fucking bully. Your comment WILL be deleted. The authors are not responsible for the ignorance of someone who cannot read "into" a story. MIND THE TAGS. 
> 
> Amaria_Anna_D's comments:
> 
>  
> 
> "The beauty of this mess is that it brings me close to you" The Broods, Sleep Baby Sleep
> 
> This story came out of the shared love Entropyrose and I have for Jon's character in The Accountant. Many hours of sighing and saying "what if" turned into this fic. We are both so happy to share this with you and hope you like it.

Frank’s gotten used to that look, the doe-eyed, slack jawed, deer-in-the-headlights gaze like the one he’s getting from the secretary as he approaches the desk. She is a pretty thing, as most Omegas are—her glossy blond hair tied back in a tidy bun, a few wisps having been purposefully pulled loose to frame her heart-shaped face. Frank imagines she might even be intelligent, when not overwhelmed by the presence of Alpha pheromones. Frank draws closer and begins detecting the scent of another alpha—her mate, a female, slightly younger and tightly bonded to her.

“H-hi…” She greets breathily, her fingers hovering over the keyboard of her laptop, frozen in place.

Frank nods. “Ma’am.”

She blinks slowly, her dark brown eyes lost helplessly in his. An awkward moment of silence passes before she shakes her head as if to clear it and glances down at the screen in front if her. “You must be Mr. Castle? Ms. Tarrel’s 10:45?”

Again he nods.

“Y-you are a bit early… I will see if she’s ready for you.”

Frank holds his hand out mid-air, stopping her ascent from her chair. “It’s quite alright,” he murmurs. Her shoulders relax immediately as she sinks back down, that lost smile returning to her face. “I can show myself in.” It is 1020 hours, barely early by Frank’s standards, and the sooner he receives his assignment the sooner he can get his men together and get to work.

“Of course,” she murmurs, sinking back down without any hesitation, a light blush gracing the apples of her cheeks.

Frank strides past the desk and continues down the hall, the sensation of her captivated stare following closely behind.

Frank learned he was different very early on. While most school children had yet to present their second sex, Frank was already blossoming into an undoubted Alpha. He grew faster and taller than any of the others, outrunning the other students in PE and overpowering them easily in any tussles that occurred. But his special “gifts” exceeded far beyond just being the biggest and the strongest-- he quickly discovered that he had an almost supernatural knack for leading: it was as if his presence alone could change the atmosphere.

It wasn't until he got into High School that he was told the reason why. They called him an “Apex”--a breed evolutionarily superior to the average Alpha that could persuade and subdue weaker sexes just by being in the same room. Omegas flocked to him, betas obeyed him, other alphas wanted to _be_ him.

He considered it a royal pain in the ass. Almost immediately he’d been thrust into the life of a well-bred fighter: he’d joined the most elite military schools and government academies, passing every test of strength and endurance with flying colors. He had been catapulted to the front of every line, with every branch of the military vying for his services. But Frank’s life was hardly that of a soldier’s--- he’d been deemed far too valuable for use on the battlefield. He was a high-ranking, lavishly decorated Office in charge of thousands of Alphas from some of the most highly effective forces on earth.

He’d used his size to intimidate enemies into submission, and when that didn't work he’d let his fists do the talking. It wasn't long before the Secret Service caught wind of what they were missing out on, and the rest is history. Frank prefers life with the Agency, anyway. It's a lot more hands-on, and Frank likes it that way. A chance to get his highly decorated suit a little dirty. Yet another characteristic of Apex Alphas? They crave a good fight.

He comes to the heavy oak double-doors at the end of the hallway and cracks one open. The scent of another alpha rolls it's way through on the slight breeze—makes his nose crinkle instinctively.

“Please, Mr. Castle,” a commanding, feminine voice says from the other side. “Don't bother knocking, come right in.” Her voice drips with sarcasm. Frank lets out a grunt beneath his breath and shoves his way into a vast, poorly lit room. It's filled from one end to the other with books that look like they haven't been opened in centuries. In the middle stands a wooden table that looks like it could stretch the length of a football field and probably weighs about three tons.

The Alpha eyes him with thinly veiled disdain before gesturing to the chair across from her at the far end of the table. “Your employer said you weren't a very patient man. I can only hope your skills are better than your manners.”

“They are, Ma'am.”

The woman flashes him another sneer and slides a manilla folder to him. “This is your assignment. I trust you can read.”

Frank ignores the snide remark and flips it open. As per usual, the folder contains a single sheet of paper, with a name and string of letters and numbers in front of it.

“The safehouse has already been secured and the address will be sent to you via a secure channel when we confirm you and your agents are headed out. No one is to leave once inside. Food deliveries and utilities have already been established.”

Frank raises an eyebrow. “Food deliveries? How long a stay are we talking?”

“Unknown,” she states, folding her arms as she perches herself on the end of the desk. “Maybe a few weeks, maybe months. My team has already been set up. They’ll get you settled and make the introductions.”

An uneasy feeling enters Frank's gut. Without a set end date or permission to leave, he knows he will likely end up dealing with a cluster of grumpy agents sick of the reek of Alpha and anxious to get home to their mates before their blue balls burst. Secretly, he hopes the location is spacious enough to allow for some breathing room, but it’s not a necessity: he's dealt with worse.

A polished finger taps the name printed in black ink and Frank looks up into the woman’s striking green eyes. “This is your greatest and _only_ concern. Mr. Murdock is a close friend of mine: I've watched him deal with adversities far beyond anything you can imagine. And this current case will be his biggest yet. This is personal, Mr. Castle. Any failure in this mission, and you’ll be failing _me_. Is that understood?”

Frank nods, doing his best to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. That word makes his hackles stand up—if there is one thing Frank has never once been accused of, it’s letting someone die on his watch. He’s an Apex—the best of the best. Failure is unknown to him. He stuffs down his bruised pride for the sake of the Job and gets up from his seat. The stare that ensues is typical of lesser alphas---it’s that sizing up of rivals that they all do, the innate desire to be the superior specimen. The woman’s lip curls instinctively and she slinks away, poorly masking her chagrin as a nonchalant glance out the window at the street below.

With her back safely turned, Frank grins freely before folding the paper into his pocket and discarding the envelope on the table as he leaves.

* * * * *

He stares out the van window as his Second-in-command kisses his mate goodbye. The dark-skinned Alpha is a hulk of a man--nearly as tall as Frank and twice as strong. He gathers the waif-thin, curly haired Omega in his arms and Frank would almost be concerned for the kid if he didn’t know his good friend’s gentle nature. He feels dirty watching the two embrace---Luke shamelessly grabbing a fistful of Danny’s hair in one hand and a handful of that perfect, plump ass in the other. They’ve been mates for the better part of a year now, and Frank is happy for his friend. Couldn’t have asked for a better match--Danny’s outgoingness and spontaneity to Luke’s quiet, laid-back style. Frank can’t help wonder what Danny will look like pregnant with Luke’s pups; there isn’t a sight more beautiful in the world than a full-bellied Omega.

“Fuck,” one of the other agents murmurs from the seat behind. “Lukey’s shameless, just flaunting that tight little piece of ass in front of us. Makes me almost pop a knot just thinking about it.”

“Sure, Brock,” another snickers. “Cuz we all know your limp dick hasn’t got laid in eons.”

“Enough,” Frank growls.

The kisses end in a small struggle, with Danny gripping onto Luke’s tree-trunk of an arm and playfully pulling him back in for yet another taste. Luke isn’t much better, putting up almost no resistance as he leisurely devors his lover’s mouth. Frank doesn’t blame them in the least. From the sound of things, it’s going to be a long assignment. Luke is going to have to take is fill while he can. Desire and envy mix in the pit of Frank’s stomach. If only he had a mate to miss him while he was gone. But his job would never allow for it--for reasons Frank tries hard not to dwell on.

When Luke finally makes it to the van and throws his duffel between the front seat, the interior fogs over with the scent of their lovemaking. Whoops and hollers go up with the laughter, and Luke smiles as he realizes his hand has been caught in the proverbial cookie jar.

“Damn man,” Rumlow chuckles, slapping Luke’s shoulder heartily as he slides in. “Stuffed that little ginger pussy good, didn’t you?”

“C’mon,” Luke grumbles, pushing his hand away. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“OH, sorry Big Daddy. That’s right. You’re a tamed animal now. Little blonde bitch got you domesticated proper.”

“ENOUGH!” Frank’s roar immediately ceases all sound and movement, with the short black haired alpha in the back practically plastering himself to the back of his seat. Frank’s authoritative air looms like an impending storm over the group. He lets out an indignant snort and starts up the van as the unknowing omega waves from the front porch. “We ready to get this show on the road or what?”

“Yessir,” Rumlow growls, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The scent of Danny’s omega pheromones dances lightly in the air of the cabin and it has an instant calming effect on the men. He smells like lavender and cinnamon, instantly settling Frank’s nerves. He imagines if he ever had his own mate, he’d want one like Danny. Sweet, kind, funny, and just a hint of playfulness. A perfect Omega specimen.

The drive takes a few hours, with twists and turns as they ascend into a part of New York that Frank himself has never been—and he has prided himself on knowing all the secret backwoods spots. When they arrive, Frank finds a bare spot among the trees and the men begin to pile out for the long hike into the woods. The overgrowth is thick—something that carries with it advantages as well as disadvantages. Sure, it’d be a near impossibility to find without the proper coordinates, but it’d sure as hell make escape a challenge, too.

The cabin is thankfully more like a small mansion—with three floors and two walk-out porches. The well-manicured lawn and blacked out windows suggest that this is Chairwoman Terral’s private retreat—or one of many. A man in little more than a bathrobe and boots is sitting on the lone white rocking chair beside the front door. He stands and waves nervously as they approach.

“Hi,” He offers his hand to Frank first, who glances down at him with indifference. When Frank doesn’t take it, he lowers his hand awkwardly and scratches the back of his head. “Uh, you must be Mr. Castle? Of the Strike Team? Angie said you were on your way.”

Frank fingers his weapon. “Three-Theta-zero.”

The man blinks momentarily. “Huh? Oh uhm… five-one-four.”

Frank levels his weapon to the man’s forehead in a flash of steel, his finger hovering milliseconds over the trigger.

“WHOA—WAIT! Five one five, I mean! Three-theta-zero, five one five!”

Frank drops the pistol slightly, his brow furrowed. “You almost got yourself killed.”

“Yeah, well, with my luck,” the man shrugs,“that’d just be how my life is going lately. It’s been a long day. My name is Micro. I’m your tech expert. I’ll be the mouthpiece between you guys and the outside world for the duration of our stay. Now, if you’d like to stop threatening my life for just five seconds, I’d be happy to show you around.”

The interior is spacious and well-lit, and when the door closes behind them Frank feels as if he is right back in downtown Manhattan. It’s lavishly decorated with the comforts of modern amenities despite the obvious age of the home. A stairway to the left leads to the upper floors, while the narrow hallway empties out into an open floor plan and larger bay windows. Frank frowns.

“We’re going to need to board those up.”

“What, these?” Micro gestures to the windows, shaking his head. “Nope, they are actually anti- ballistic, designed to withstand up to 15,000 psi.”

Frank wastes no time in testing out that claim. He fires six rounds dead-center, pleasantly surprised as one after another the bullets ricochet, some embedding into the wall behind them, some popping the wine glasses stacked on the kitchen counter. The casings fall to the ground. As the man named Micro recovers from the floor, Frank runs his fingers over the smooth glass, inspecting the place where the bullets hit. He nods contentedly.

“HOLY SHIT,” Micro rasps breathlessly, resting his hands on his knees. “You’re not exactly the subtle type, are you?”

Luke snickers, patting the cowering beta on his shoulder.

Frank puts in a new clip before sliding it back into its holster. He tosses his head towards closed door at the end of the hall. “What does that go to?”

Micro clears his throat, smoothing his frazzled appearance as he shimmies his way around Frank, giving him a wide side-eye before gingerly tip toeing around him. “That’s NERV center. The whole house is wired and ready to go. That’s my work space, so feel free to look around but don’t touch anything, got it?”

Frank nods. “And the Asset?”

The man named Micro folds his arms, running a hand down his exhausted visage before gesturing back the way they came. “Matt—er, Mr. Murdock and his partner arrived last night. They’re not exactly comfortable with the idea of hiding out. In fact, Matt thinks it’s an unnecessary waste of time and Court resources. He’s an odd duck, that one. Oh, and before you meet him, I should probably mention th--”

Frank brushes past the smaller man with an authoritative grunt, effectively cutting him off as he doubles back to the stairs. He has stopped listening halfway through. The men are already restless and anxious to begin setting up and settling in, so Frank finds the nearest empty beds and begins delegating Posts and who stays where on his way up the stairs. If the Asset is spending his time on the upper levels, Frank is going to need to secure those rooms first. Rumlow and Luke follow him up while Micro rattles on something about Matt being an introvert who wants his space. Frank shoves the comment to the back of his mind--in these kinds of situations, space and privacy are two things that can cost a man his life. What Murdock “wants” is not necessarily what Murdock “needs” and Frank is going to make sure he understands that early on.

The second floor is a series of rooms connected by a narrow hallway, with one slender window at the very end. Micro pushes past, much to Frank’s chagrin, in an attempt to block him from the very last room. The chatty beta holds up a finger as he rattles on. Frank quirks an eyebrow.

“Now, now hold on--”

A new voice interrupts, and Frank’s senses go into overdrive. “It’s alright David.” As the door to the furthest room opens, Frank finds himself captivated. The voice is low and soft with a distinguished lilt, the lips it comes from are plush and pouty. He wears a plain white collared shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and tucked into his narrow waist. The button is popped where a tie once was fastened, his well-defined clavicle peeking out shamelessly. Frank instinctively sniffs the air, though he doesn't need to confirm what he already knows.

Sandalwood. Patchouli. Freshly milled wheat. The man smells like a summer wind feels, and Frank nearly falters. _Omega._

The man nods slightly in recognition, extending his hand in greeting. Frank doesn't dare take it. With an annoyed huff, Luke pushes in and gives the man a warm, firm shake, a genuine smile playing across his face. “I’m Agent Cage. You can call me Luke. This is my partner, Agent Castle.”

When Frank’s senses return to him, they're replaced with rage: a fucking Omega? He should have known! If Chairwoman Tarrel’s perfectly coiffed head hadn’t been so far up her ass, she might have remembered to warned him about it. Of course, it's not unusual for the weaker sex to hold a desk job, but this sure as hell makes Frank’s job all the more difficult. Possible ramifications of keeping a single Omega penned up with a bunch of horny, sex-starved Alphas for an undetermined amount of time is not only stupid, it is downright irresponsible. He’s going to chew Tarrel out the very first chance he gets—but for now, Frank has a job to do.

Frank clears his throat and nods his head towards the crack in the doorway. “This the office?”

The omega frowns slightly—he’s probably overwhelmed by Frank’s ruddy scent, he figures before answering, “Yes.”

“Good. You can tell Mr. Murdock we need to speak with him.”

The omega lets out a small huff---was that a _scoff_?--and gives Frank a look as if he’s grown two heads. “Mr. Murdock...is…”

“Your Boss,” Frank clarifies tersely. What, is he slow or something? He certainly doesn't look the type but his stupefied look has Frank stumped.

Suddenly, a smile that Frank can't quite read makes its way across the omega’s face and he turns towards the door. “Of course,” he says, putting his hand on the handle and giving it a small push.

The office is dark--the shades are drawn and the room itself is empty except for a heavy wooden desk at the center, a cluster of furnished chairs, and a tall stack of hastily piled paperwork on the floor. From under the desk comes the faint rustle of more.

“Mr. Murdock?” The omega announces. When he gets no immediate reply, he clears his throat and tries again. “Attorney Murdock?,” He nearly barks.

There is a sudden sound of surprise followed by a dull thud before a dirty blonde head emerges from underneath the desk. “What--? Owh…”

The omega’s grin only becomes more strained, purposeful. “These gentlemen are here to see you, _Mr. Murdock._ ”

“Huh?” The dirty blond scratches his disheveled head before his eyes light up in sudden realization. “Oh. OH...yes, I _am Mr. Murdock_ , District Attorney.” He gestures to the omega---”and that is my secretary, Franklin. Nice to meet you gentlemen.”

“Mr. Murdock,” Frank steps forward, hand outstretched, sashaying around the secretary, careful not to let his sleeve brush even the hem of his crisp white shirt. (This one in particular is already doing things to him—Frank will have to be on his best guard.)

The chubby blond shakes it as he shares a sly smile with his secretary. “Pleased to meet you, Mr…?”

“Agent,” Frank Corrects. “Senior Agent Frank Castle, Special Services.”

“I see. Well, me and... my secretary…aren't quite finished setting up yet. So, feel free to make yourself at home, and we’ll do our best to stay out of your hair.”

“Mr. Murdock, it's our job—my job—to keep you safe. My team’s going to need to scour this place from top to bottom, so I'd hold off on settling in just yet.”

The secretary lets out a disdainful huff from behind him, stuffing one hand into his pocket as he murmurs, “That's not really necessary. Micro has the whole house wired and Ms. Tarrel’s own people installed the other security measures months ago.”

Frank feels a prick of annoyance at being so nonchalantly dismissed, and he flashes a terse scowl at the expressionless omega. “Let's get one thing straight, sweetheart; I decide what is necessary. How about you do your job and let me do mine?”

Something about this omega is vastly different. He doesn't seem to be responding in the least to Frank's authoritarian aura, instead responding with a slight thrust of his chin as he folds his arms. One eyebrow ascends over the dark frames. “Sweetheart?” The tone he spits back at Frank is almost vehement, not at all a gracious response to the socially acceptable term of endearment befitting a Omega—especially one as cute as he is. The little redhead trains a finger on Frank as he takes a determined step forward. “It’s my turn to educate you, _Agent_. My partner and I--”

“Uh-oh,” the dirty blond mutters behind them. “Now, Matt, don’t piss him off, okay? Not this early on.”

Frank’s eyes flash. “Matt? I thought you said his name was…” Frank puts two and two together as he narrows his eyes down at the much smaller man, who flashes him a triumphant smile. “ _You’re_ Mr. Murdock.”

The omega glances down at his watch as it chimes the time—two-forty-seven-and-fourteen-seconds.“Wow. That’s three minutes, seven seconds.” Matt nods approvingly. “Now, that’s got to be some kind of record. Right, Foggy?”

The dirty blond grins sheepishly, shrinking back behind the desk and pretending to busy himself with work.

Somewhere between Frank asserting his authority to the wrong man and being humiliated beyond reason, a cluster of his men have joined them upstairs and are chuckling along at Frank’s expense.

“What’s the matter, Agent? Not what you expected?”

Frank turns to Luke, grounding out in his ear, “Get out of here. Take the guys with you and shut the door.”

“Frank,” Luke grumbles warningly.

“Don’t worry. I just need to talk with our little lawyer. Alone.”

“Foggy goes where I go,” the real Matt Murdock chimes, and he still hasn’t lost that smug look on his face. Okay, so on top of being apparently insusceptible to Frank’s wiles, he’s also got incredible hearing. Duly noted.

His cowering partner, however, seems to lack Mr. Murdock’s resolve. All it takes is Frank barking “LEAVE” and the guy is sent scampering past the group of agents as they exit, tail tucked firmly between his legs.

Frank cannot remember the last time he was behind closed doors with an omega. It’s a part of his code; Apex Alphas are highly unlikely to lose control of themselves, but even for the sake of propriety alone it’s basic protocol. There have been a few occasions where he’s had to help an asset through their heats, but even those moments were witnessed, well-controlled and documented so that both he and his charge understood that the arrangement was purely professional.

Frank would like to think that this is part of the job, too—asserting his authority and making doubly sure that everyone and anyone beneath him follows his instructions to the tee, for the safety of everyone involved. He’d like to assume that he’s not going to fly off the handle here—that the rage and embarrassment simmering beneath his calm exterior isn't going to boil over. But he doesn't know. This Omega makes him unsure of his own self control—and that makes him dangerous.

If the sweet-faced redhead has any inkling of what Frank is capable of, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he barely looks concerned, striding forward to meet Frank in the dead-center with a swagger fit for an overconfident Alpha, arms still tightly folded across his chest. “I didn’t ask you here,” he begins as soon as Frank opens his mouth.

Frank cuts off the growl building in the back of his throat, trying instead for a diplomatic approach. “I understand this must be a lot for you.” It’s not a lie: Frank cannot fathom how an omega, with their weaker constitution and the constant influx of hormones, could have risen to the challenge of being a lawyer in general, let alone a D.A. “But Chairwoman Tarrel hired me and my team to ensure your safety through the course of this—whatever it is you do. I don’t give a damn what it is you _think_ is going to happen here. Just know this: my word is final. You will follow my instructions to the letter. Failing to do so can compromise not only your own safety, but the lives of my men.”

“And if I don’t?”

Standing this close to him, Frank begins to pick up on a sterile smell that is most definitely not a part of this omega’s biology; like detergent, it’s a fake, factory kind of clean that doesn’t turn Frank off so much as make him curious. Then it dawns on him: it must be suppressants. The good stuff. Black-market shit like the kind that omegas take when they really want to slip beneath the radar. The slender little lawyer smells like he puts it in a bowl and pours milk over it every morning. It may be why he is not susceptible to Frank’s Apex Pheromones. No matter, Frank figures. He’ll just have to drop the nice-guy act and go about this the hard way. Without warning, he grabs the omega by his skinny little arms and hoists him into the nearest chair, ignoring the sweet shock of bliss the skin-on-skin contact sends straight to his groin. He presses him down into it as the kid goes rigid, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows sharply. Frank’s glare flashes back at him in the reflection of the deep red lenses.

The kid’s naturally pouty lips are pursed tightly, but he’s hiding nothing from Frank; he can smell the tendrils of fear that spring through his clean, untouched scent.

“Then I’m going to _make_ you.” Frank growls.

Matt’s skin is soft, pliable beneath Frank’s callouses. He squirms backwards into the seat (as if he could escape, anyways) making himself smaller. Frank leans in, exposing his neck, hoping that the closeness will help the omega to catch whiffs of his powerful fragrance- sure seems the kid could use a little calming down. It earns Frank a faceful of feathery read hair as the lawyer jerks away. It’s not working. The suppressants are too strong. He’s not soothing the feral omega—he’s scaring him.

Regret and shame bite into his gut. Rarely does Frank ever resort to intimidation--he usually doesn't need to. But this is important—he expects the full cooperation of anyone placed under his watch. With only his own reflection staring back at him, the difficulty is doubled. Maybe if they meet eye-to-eye, he figures, the connection will finally be made. Then maybe they could get on with this and get some actual work done and they’d never have to deal with each other again. He jerks off the dark frames in one swift movement, ignoring the Omega’s shocked gasp of disgust.

Frank is staring down into a glassy pair of dark brown eyes, the retinas thick and fogged over with evident damage. Frank’s mouth drops open as the air is torn from his lungs.

_Blind._

The Asset is a blind Omega.

Scrambling to regain what little dignity he has left, Frank pushes the glasses back into the lawyer’s open hand. He hopes the words tumbling out of his mouth sound something like an apology, however insufficient they may be. He immediately retreats to the other side of the room as the heat rushes to his face, hoping the space he gives the lawyer is enough to warrant a slightly more forgiving reaction. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t...I didn’t know.”

* * * * *

Frank can't remember the last time he lit up, but today of all days god knows he needs it. He steps out onto the spacious back porch with it's unassuming wooden deck and potted plants his men bugged earlier, closing the door tightly behind him. Thankfully, Rollins hasn’t fully been able to kick the habit. He balances the cigarette lightly between his lips as he lights it, letting the warm ash roll around his tongue and dull his overactive senses. He lets out a relieved groan, allowing his eyes to roll back into his head momentarily, his lashes fluttering closed.

Damn Chairwoman Tarrel for not warning him ahead of time that he’d be protecting a goddamned _omega._ And a disabled one at that?! His fingers are still on fire from where they made contact, an irresistibly pleasurable itch that refuses to subside. Of course he knows why she didn’t tell him. He’d never have taken the job. And apparently Tarrel couldn’t risk having a lesser talented team on the job, and it's no wonder—especially if _Attorney Murdock_ addresses his cases with the same air of superiority and stubbornness as he does alphas—that he’s managed to piss off someone powerful and dangerous.

And then there's the matter of having to deal with his own team of hungry alphas, a breed not exactly known for “playing well with others”. He’s going to have to be on high alert at all times, keeping his subordinates in check while trying his damnedest to give the little redhead enough space to get actual work done. Fucking great. It's going to be like wiggling a bloody steak in front of starving sharks. At least he has Luke who, even if he weren't happily mated, seems to be the only other alpha with enough brain cells to keep it in his pants.

Before Frank realizes it, he’s worried the cigarette down to the nub. He breathes the last swirls of smoke deep into his lungs before grinding it out into the nearest plant. As much as he wished he’d bummed two from his well-meaning subordinate, Frank has a job to do. He can’t be absent for too long before the calming effect of his Alpha pheromones vanishes, and besides, he’s got to run a quality check on his team’s security setup and make sure they hit all the spots Micro’s cameras missed.

Any hope that the disheveled beta keeps better house than he does his own appearance is dashed when he enters the tech room. Wires and plugs snake their way out of every available corner, coiling themselves around each piece of equipment and table legs and spilling out of boxes, most of which are dusty where Cheetoh-covered fingerprints have manhandled them. Frank lets out a disgusted grunt, stepping over a pile of junk food wrappers on his way to his team’s setup.

The only empty space available for their security equipment is a cupboard of sorts—the shelves make the perfect fashioning system to appropriately display and access each vital component. After confirming the audio is up and running, Frank doubles back to the messy desk and Micro’s setup of monitors. Despite the way they were hastily assembled, Micro must be good at what he does—the tech is far advanced even for what the Agency has, and the large full-color screens have both infrared and night vision. Frank ‘harrumps’ approvingly as he flips through the channels.

Something inside him was hoping the skinny little lawyer wouldn’t be as appealing on second sight--that somehow it was just his scent that had knocked Frank off-kilter. But his heart leaps back into his throat as the screen flicks to the darkened room and the redhead in the middle of it. Those same feelings—involuntary responses, really—come charging right back, slamming into him like a runaway locomotive. Frank sees himself touching the screen before he can stop himself, two calloused fingers sweeping down the length of his form.

Everything inside is screaming to protect, to keep,to _cherish_ the lawyer omega. Frank’s face flushes and he swallows hard, unable to tear his eyes from the sight of the delicate, sophisticated, maddeningly beautiful man.

* * * * *

Matt feels like his whole body is vibrating like a fucking tuning fork. He hasn’t felt this unsettled in years—not since the first days without his sight. The Alpha—Frank had managed to check off every single one of Matt’s “fuck no” boxes in one straight line. Usually, he would have been the perfect target for Matt to run circles around, making him look every bit as foolish and arrogant as Aphlas usually are. But there is absolutely nothing usual about Frank. Matt had heard it when the team arrived in the sheer calm, collected way he ordered his men like they couldn’t even possibly think of doing anything less than the letter of his word. Then as soon as his boots hit the hallway, Matt was able to pick up the clear thudding sound of a very, very large man walking aside the barefooted Beta, Micro. Everything had pointed towards Frank being an Apex on top of already being a fucking Alpha, but Matt hadn’t been ready for exactly what that meant. The suppressants dulled Matt’s sense of smell—an unpleasant side effect for a man already down one sense—but even from a good fifteen feet away and through a closed door, he could smell the distinctness of fall rain and crisp apples. When the door opened, it took all of his willpower to ignore that scent and treat the man like he was just any other in the long line of Alphas who looked down on the other genders. Everything after that first breath of victory had been an absolute shit show.

Touching his arms lightly, Matt idly wonders how long he’ll have to scrub at his skin until it forgets the fire that ran over him when they touched. He hates the left over feeling there as much as he hates _Agent_ Castle for making him feel it. On top of that, he hates the man for making him feel like the poor, blind, Omega boy who’d been orphaned and then abandoned less than a year later. Matt’s hard won control and self-confidence had taken a blow, and he would never forgive the lumbering jack ass that dealt it.

Matt is so off kilter that he didn’t hear anyone approaching his door until a gentle knock sounds. Pulling himself out of the overstuffed, wing backed chair he’d been occupying for the last hour, he uses his sharpened hearing to identify his visitor. The heartbeat on the other side is like a base drum, but not hammering the way Frank’s had earlier. Once again, Matt damns the man for distracting him enough that he wasn’t able to catch the who’s who of Frank’s team earlier. “Who is it?” he asks, pushing aside the desire to say “fuck off” instead.

“Agent Cage—Luke,” a deep voice replies.

Allowing his body to sag briefly, Matt offers up a silent thanks to God that it’s Luke instead of Frank or any of the other Alphas. He hasn’t had all that much interaction with the large Alpha, but what little he has had has all been positive. When the other Alphas had began their search, not a single fucking one of them paid a second’s attention to the fact that Matt had pointedly asked them to return things to the exact spot they had been placed. Luke, on the other hand, not only paid attention, but he’d used his exceptional size and presence to make sure the others fixed anything they had disturbed and made sure not to do it again. He’d actually apologized for his teammate’s carelessness and even meant it when he did. All of it earned Luke bonus points in Matt’s book. He can’t deny that he wishes Luke was the man in charge rather than Frank.

“Come in,” Matt calls, making sure to hold himself up ramrod straight and keep his face neutral. He’d had a lot of practice over the years at holding his head high in front of Alphas and never letting even so much as a crack show in his mask. As nice as Luke seemed, Matt wasn’t about to cave in now.

“Sorry to bother you again, but the boss wanted me to add a couple more security devices to the room,” Luke explains. To his credit, he doesn’t just brush past Matt and begin the work.

“What are they and where are you putting them?” Matt demanded coolly.

“Up high enough that they won’t be in your way and nothing that will interfere with your work.”

Scowling at the non-answer, Matt crosses his arms over his chest. For years, Elektra has tutored him in the art of making himself seem bigger, more authoritative than he actually is. The skill has paid off more times than Matt cares to count, but he doesn’t hear any changes in Luke's heart rate to indicate discomfort. “That isn’t an answer,” Matt grinds out.

“Unfortunately, it’s the only answer I’ve been cleared to give at this time.” Once again, Luke sounds genuinely contrite, but it does nothing to assuage Matt’s complete and utter annoyance.

“Want me to leave the room so I don’t see you putting them up?” he asks tartly. He’s sure to keep his face completely unmoving and his voice more bored than angry. “Or I could just cover my eyes if you prefer? After all, didn’t your boss say I wasn’t to leave this room without him?”

Luke lets out a rough snort. “Remind me not to ever let you near my mate. He’d be even more dangerous if he learned a few tricks from you.”

“Why? Because I might tell him to stand up for himself?”

This time, full fledged laughter escapes the man. “Nah, Danny has no problem standing up for himself. He’s got more bravery in one finger than most Alphas do in their whole bodies. Still, he’s a lot younger than you and a whole hell of a lot more reckless. I don’t want to have to bail his scrawny, white butt out of a brawl if I don’t have to.”

“Sounds like you have quite a handful,” Matt says. His lips twitch upwards of their own accord. It takes him a second for his mind to circle back to the new security features. “And I guess I will let you keep your job. By all means…” He lets his voice trail off and gestures vaguely to the room around him.

It takes Luke all of ten minutes to get the devices in place. Matt takes careful not of each placement and listens carefully to the sounds they make once their activated. Elektra spent about an hour teaching him how a listening device has slightly more audible feedback than a motion sensor or a video camera. They’d agreed that if anything Micro would try to sleep in more listening devices. Elektra had confirmed the exact positioning of each motion sensor and camera concluding that the room was entirely monitored. They hadn’t planned on any more of those types of measures being added. In his mind, Matt is slightly panicking as each device comes up and is nearly inaudible.

Pretending to work at his desk, Matt uses his Braille keyboard to type out an email to Elektra. After making sure that she could disrupt all of Micro’s security devices, Elektra had slipped Matt an untraceable smart phone to use to communicate without any prying eyes or ears. “ _New tech added by the security team. Unsure what exactly it is but I will send you the locations of each. Look up Security Specialist Frank Castle. I will try to slip out as planned tomorrow night.”_ Luke finishes just about the same time Matt hits send on his message.

When he’s alone again, Matt focuses his ears on the entire house. He can hear Foggy humming along to a 90’s tune in the next room over. Luke is standing just outside of the door speaking over an intercom letting everyone know that he’s done. Micro is in the kitchen snacking loudly on something from the pantry. The other two Alphas are each patrolling the perimeter of the house. Finally, he notes that Frank is sitting at Micro’s desk clicking the mouse over something or other. Matt has a feeling that he is checking and double checking every single angle of the estate. He doesn’t doubt for a second that Frank would be up the stairs and by his side in an instant if he so much as saw Matt’s door begin to crack. The thought is unnerving.

Matt decides to test his theory. He goes into the bathroom and instantly hears a mouse clicking in the room below. Micro hadn’t put a camera in the bathroom. It had been a modicum of privacy in an otherwise oppressively imposing situation. Matt grinds his teeth and reaches into his overnight bag, grabbing an aspirin. He’s developing a head ache and is already dreading when he actually needs to use the toilet or shower. The hope that the damned camera doesn’t have night vision doesn’t even bother to try to blossom. He knows already that the simple fact that he doesn’t bother turning on lights when he’s alone won’t protect him from prying eyes. Knowing that strange Alphas will see him nude almost sends him over the edge, but knowing that Frank in particular will be able to see him too is what actually sets him off.

His knees feel a little weak at the thought. Matt can still remember what it felt like to be sized up and found wanting by the line of Alphas looking to pick up an easily won Omega at the state funded “social.” He’d been given no choice but to attend. The antiquated laws that had kept Omegas out of universities may have been lifted, but there were still a million tinier hurdles placed in their stead. For Omegas who were officially wards of the state, they had to attend at least three socials in an attempt to find a suitable mate before they were even allowed to apply to any higher education at all. Matt’s fate as Omega had once again tossed him at the mercy of Alphas who were not his equals—let alone his betters—in either physical prowess or intellectual ability. Set aside the fact that Matt was also disabled, to the state and the general belief of Alphas and Betas everywhere, he was already “weak” and “dependent.” Matt could be the smartest man in the room or the best fighter on the Eastcoast, but he would always be judged as a broken Omega.

Being judged by any Alpha made Matt edgy, but the fact that Frank would be below watching him nude, judging him as less than worthy at his most vulnerable moments made him sick. He wonders how wanting Frank will find him. Will the scars left behind by others make him ugly? Do his sightless eyes unnerve him the way they did most of the alphas at the socials? Will the muscles he’s fought so hard to gain seem un-Omega-like? How many ways will Matt fail a man that he hadn’t even realized he gave a shit about?

The judgment and the lack of control are too much. He can’t do this now. Just when he thought his entire life was under his own control, he finds himself completely at the mercy of Alphas again, and again the fact that it is this particular Alpha calling the final shots sends him spinning. Before he knows it, Matt is running for the bathroom. Bile burns its way up his throat as full panic sets in. His body shakes as he heaves. He isn’t fully aware of the tears streaming down his face. Once his stomach is empty, Matt lays his head on the cold marble tiles and let’s himself sob. Frank can make of this whatever the fuck he wants, but Matt just can’t pull himself up.

Suddenly, he finds himself surrounded by warm, strong arms and that perfect Autumn scent. He is hauled up against a massive chest that makes him feel like a child. Somewhere deep down, he knows he should be pissed that an Alpha he barely knows is carrying him, but he can’t force himself to fight it. Frank’s pheromones punch through the suppressants, and Matt feels the warm, honey-thick feeling of being protected by an Alpha—no, by _his_ Alpha. Letting out one final heaving sob, he melts into Frank’s chest. The chiseled muscles beneath Frank’s cotton shirt should be hard and uninviting, but it’s somehow the perfect place to nuzzle in. A steady heartbeat is sounding like a drum, lulling Matt even deeper into his haze.

Just when he lets himself fully relax, he is set down on the bed, away from the calming heat and perfect scent. He is about to protest when he is covered by blankets and hears the thud of Frank’s boots hitting the floor. Matt lets out a completely undignified moan of satisfaction as Frank slides underneath the blankets and pulls him back against his chest.

“I’ve got you, Red,” he whispers in a rough voice that sounds better than about anything else ever has. “I’ll take care of you, I promise.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

“Who’s ‘Red’?”

 

Frank’s eyes slide open as the name registers through the haze their skin contact has made of his mind. Time could stop, mountains could crumble, hell the whole world could disappear right here and now and Frank wouldn't even blink. He couldn't bring himself to care about anything right now, except the slender body pressed tightly to his chest. The room is darker now, the sun’s rays casting an orange hue on the wall through the sliver of open curtain. “Huh?”

 

The red-haired head on his chest stirs a little, his weight shifting under the blankets so that his bare foot touches Frank’s socked one. Frank finds himself both grateful and frustrated for the layers of clothing separating them. He wants—he  _ needs— _ to feel the completeness that only comes with skin-to-skin contact. “You know, when you came in, you called me 'Red’.”

 

Frank feels his cheeks flush. “Uh yeah. That…” He clears his throat, buying time as he searches for an adequate answer. “It just came out I guess. You know, your glasses? And your hair…”

 

He feels Matt’s head tilt a bit and hears a bit of an indignant sniff. “My hair is brown.”

 

Frank scoffs. Leave it to this little shit to argue about a color he can’t even see. “Nah, it’s red.”

 

“I was nine when I lost my sight. I remember it was brown, not red. Are you sure  _ you’re  _ not colorblind?” There’s a bit of a taunt in Matt’s tone and damned if it doesn’t make Frank want to pin him down and make him submit.

 

Instead, Frank trails his fingertips down the Omega’s arm. It’s a deliberate move, and he’s rewarded by a sublime shiver. “Why does it matter so much to you what color your hair is?”

 

“You know the old wives’ tale about red-haired Omegas,” Matt grumbles. It’s not a question because everyone knows that old superstition.

 

“Red-headed Omegas have a bit of the devil in them,” Frank muses with a warm laugh. “God damned, I really am going to call you ‘Red’ from now on.” Matt immediately tries to escape the bed, but Frank’s solid grip deterrs him.  “Maybe that devil in you is what makes you, you. Maybe he’s what’s pushed you to do what no one else ever has. Ever think of that?”

 

Matt lets out a soft sigh and buries himself back beneath the covers, further into Frank’s arms. “My hair’s still not red.”

 

“For fuck’s sake… If I call it ‘auburn’ does that make it alright?” Frank compromises, still shaking his head.

  
  


“Only you ever get to call me ‘Red,’” Matt says so softly that Frank might not have heard him if they hadn’t been sharing a pillow.

 

For the second time in one night, the mighty, infallible Senior Agent Castle blushes and thanks God those assholes downstairs can't see him now. He slides his eyes closed, resting his chin on the top of the small omega lawyer’s head and letting a contented groan rumble out from a place deep within him.

 

The peace doesn't last long.

 

Split seconds after Matt jerks off Frank’s chest with a sudden gasp, the already off kilter door slams open with a horrible squeal.

 

“Matt! Matt, are you…?” The chubby beta’s face lights with a fury Frank has rarely seen in the usually amicable species, and he points a finger towards Frank, mouth gaped wide open. “The hell are  _ YOU  _ doing?”

 

Matt's cries of protest do nothing to deter his partner from flying towards the bed and ripping the blankets off their covered forms.

 

“Foggy! Stop!”

 

Frank raises a hand to halt the sputtering assistant. He breathes outward deeply, steadying his heartbeat and projecting his calming scent as far as it will reach, letting it permeate the air. Matthew lets out a small mewl behind him, and the agitated beta struggles to maintain his composure.

“It’s alright,” Frank says, channeling calm into his voice.

Even that doesn’t deter the Beta from firing daggers at Frank with a dangerous glare. “No! NAH-UH! Don't try and of your alpha-voodoo jedi-mind-bending shit on me! Matt, are you okay? Did he do anything? How far did he get?”

 

Frank rolls his eyes.

 

“Nothing happened,” Matt murmurs. He's already slipped out of bed and Frank instinctively reaches a steadying hand out to him, a remnant of that protective drive still messing with his better judgment. Matt pushes his hand away brusquely. “I'm fine,” he adds beneath his breath. He rounds the bed to meet the sputtering beta, placing an assuring hand on his shoulder. “It was my idea. I had a...I felt unwell, and Frank...er... Agent Castle...”

 

Foggy’s eyebrows furrow in worry. “Unwell? Matt, are you sick or something?”

 

Matt shakes his head slightly. Frank takes the awkward silence that follows as a hint that his presence is still very much unwelcome, something the glare the beta is flashing him over his partner’s shoulder confirms. He reluctantly slips out from under the covers and the warmth created by their intermingled bodies with a wince. It actually hurts to leave.

 

Frank takes the opportunity to slip back into his boots as Matt offers up some lame excuse for the compromising position they’d been discovered in. Frank doesn't feel any shame. It's part of his job description—protect and serve, secure the asset and provide any and all aid to ensure their well-being. After all, Frank has even been called upon to help an asset through an unexpected heat. He has and will use his body to provide relief, comfort and security to the best of his abilities.

It's the loud-mouthed beta who is out-of-line! He is no position to be demanding answers But bringing that up isn't going to help the situation and certainly won't win him any points with Red—er, Mr. Murdock.

 

He creeps downstairs to the NERV center and gestures for Micro to beat it. Sliding into the still warm seat, he puts on the headphones as he brings up the audio and video from Red’s room.

 

“You should have called me,” Foggy blurts, flattening a hand to Matt’s forehead. “Holy shit, you’re burning up!”

 

“I’m fine,” the redhead insists quietly, peeling his hand away. “It's just...all  _ this, _ ”he gestures to their surroundings, but somehow Frank knows the non-specific action includes  _ him  _ as well. For the first time a sliver of guilt flashes through him as the Omega runs his fingers up and down the arm Frank had been rubbing less than ten minutes earlier. “I guess it all just came over me at once.”

  
  


“I know, bud,” Foggy murmurs, his voice interwoven with sincere empathy. “Just remember why we're here. You are doing the whole world a huge favor making sure that piece of scum gets what's coming to him. We do this, we get out, it's done. This is not forever. We just have to put up with it for a little while. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Matt murmurs, his shoulders dropping.

 

Frank can't help but be confused and jealous simultaneously. The seemingly self-sufficient, independent ice-prince of a lawyer is more than willing to drop his guard around the insignificant beta, yet his defenses are still tightly sealed against Frank’s alpha pheromones. The punch of resentment towards the dirty blonde propels him forward, dropping the headphones and reattaching his com. He punches the button behind his ear. “Luke?”

 

>Yeah, Boss?<

 

“Get a tool kit up here and a contractor bag. The door’s broken on the asset’s room.” He doesn’t bother explaining why he’s not the one fixing said door and heads to his room.

 

The sweet sting of their contact has permeated all layers of his clothing, sweet heat still buzzing around his head like a radio between waves. Frank strips hurriedly, tossing them into a black bag and digging into his duffel for the bottle of sterile wash. He usually preserves this for masking his scent, but this time he’s praying it will erase the smell of O _ mega  _ that’s clinging to his skin. He stumbles into the shower, dousing his body with it as the cold water cascades down. He can’t be thinking about this, not here, not now. Maybe the old wives weren’t full of shit, because he is on his fourth wash and he swears he can still smell Red on his skin. The Omega really must be some kind of devil to make  _ him _ —of all fucking people—lose sight of his responsibility. 

 

The recollection of that fact sends his stomach turning. The thought of screwing up—of the possibility of losing him--- is too much to bear. He growls through the torment, slamming a fist into the opposite wall and leaning against it to hold himself upright. The soap is finally going to work, washing that brief moment of peace and completeness that he hasn’t felt in all his years down the drain. He lets out a shuddering breath and scrubs harder.

 

He suits up when the task is done, this time choosing a gray v-neck, an agency-issued black dress shirt and placing a thick tactical vest over the whole thing. He straps the radio in place over his right shoulder and coils the wire around his ear, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror as he packs up. He looks tired. Needs a shave. He runs a hand over his budding whiskers and jerks the door open. It will have to wait. For now, at least, he is clean again. The pleasant itch that started in his fingers is still crawling up his spine and working its way into his bloodstream, just a remnant of the fire that the stubborn lawyer lit deep within him.  _ Damn devil _ , he thinks as he leaves the room.

 

The stench of rival alpha hits him like a fog as he enters the living room, causing his nose to curl. Rollins sits on the couch with his back to him, winding up the unused portion of AVI cable. Somewhere past the kitchen a toilet flushes and Rumlow emerges, readjusting his belt. He swipes a sandwich off the counter on his way to the living room, landing sprawled in an all-too-comfortable position beside his best friend.

 

“Hey!” The scrawny beta in a bathrobe lets out a cry of protest as he looks up from the empty plate. “I just made that!”

 

Rumlow raises the already half-devoured sandwich like raising a toast, and gives the man named Micro a nod. “Thanks.”

 

Rollins chuckles as Micro’s face screws up, and it's as if he’s having a seizure trying to come up with an appropriate insult to throw. In the end, he chooses wisely—pinning his mouth shut tightly, he retreats back to the fridge and pulls out a bag of bread, some sandwich meat and all the components necessary to reconstruct his meal. Frank could intervene, but Rumlow is a livewire and there’s no need to piss off the short, feisty alpha over something so insignificant. Besides, it  _ is  _ kind of funny. His authoritative scowl softens into a grin.

 

“It’s a nice place.” Rumlow spreads his booted legs out to either corner of the room as he stuffs his face with another generous portion of Micro’s sandwich. He takes another huge bite and packs it into his cheek to add, “Whouldn’d mhind retiring ta’ a plahce like thish.”

 

“Retiring?” Rollins repeats, eyebrows raised. “You know as well as I do you’re never handing in your badge. What excuse would you have to put bullets into people?”

 

“Ya gotta point there,” Rumlow concedes.

 

Frank has thought of retiring too—rather, he’s daydreamed about it in the same sense a third grader would envision owning a pet dinosaur. He even has a spot in mind, a small cabin way back in the quiet of the New York woods. He and his team stumbled upon it one time during a mission and utilized it as a hideout. It had been abandoned for at least a decade, maybe more—but it was well-made, and Frank could tell it had been someone’s pet project, raised from the ground by a hard-working pair of hands. The owner had died, Frank is certain of that. Nobody voluntarily leaves a work of art like that behind to rot. Frank had occupied his sleepless nights studying the details of the interior—it’d need a few beams replaced and a good, thorough cleaning but was otherwise in pristine condition. Frank knows it's just a fantasy, though. His path was set before him the moment his “talents” were discovered—the only way out’d be in a body bag.

 

Washing the last of the sandwich down with a power drink and wiping his mouth on both sleeves, Rumlow lets out a dramatic sigh of contentment, stretching  his head back to stare at the ceiling. “That was tasty. Now all I needs’a blow-job.”

 

Rollins snickers. “Well, don't look at me.”

 

Rumlow chuckles and flicks the empty energy can at his head. It clatters to the floor. “Nah, I ain’t thinking o’you, ya nasty shit” He licks his lips as he continues, “Now that little redhead upstairs? That’d be a sight to see. Bet that pretty little mouth could suck the varnish off a fence post.”

 

Frank’s ears prick up at the mention of the Asset, and he strides forward defensively, letting out a grunt of displeasure for fair warning.

 

Rumlow is none-too-concerned, rolling his head back to stare at Frank through his long black bangs. “Now, don’t act all high-n-mighty, Boss. Everyone could see you sportin’ wood back there. And who could blame you? The kid smells like a fucking candy factory.”

 

Frank's hackles stand pin-straight as he realizes that Rumlow is right—he couldn’t hide what that instant, electric connection was doing to him. What it will continue to do, so long as Murdock is in his charge.

 

“Fuck, did you see that tight little body? Baggy office clothes can't hide a figure like that. And  _ unmated _ too? Can you believe nobody’s tapped that? I bet his pussy is like a fuckin’ vice grip. Holy shit, guys, do you think he might be a virgin?”

 

Frank's face goes hot as he takes another step forward, this time letting out a full growl, his fist clenched firmly at his sides. 

 

“Rumlow…” Even as Rollins nudges his partner and murmurs a warning, Rumlow has become lost in his own narrative, letting out a giddy howl at this new epiphany.

 

“He is, isn't he? A virgin, fucking hell! I haven't popped fresh cherry in ages! I wouldn’t mind breeding 'im face-down, ass-up, trainin’ that tight pussy how to satisfy a real man.”

 

Before Frank has a chance to light into him, Rollins tries to let his friend down easy, eyeing him sideways. “I don't think he’d let you get that close, dude.”

 

Rumlow snorts. “Like he’d have a choice. I’ve had ones like him before; stubborn. Inexperienced. You have to hog-tie 'em the first few times, maybe loan their mouths to a buddy to muffle their screams, but once they get their first real taste of cock---” 

 

Frank absolutely loses it. The rage that has been roiling at the surface boils over. He closes the distance between himself and Rumlow without his feet ever touching the ground, grabbing a fistful of the jagged spikes of hair atop Rumlow’s scalp, ramming Brock’s head backwards into his shoulders. The asshole is lucky he stops there and doesn’t rip it clean off. Rumlow’s black eyes flash wide, a spike of fear slicing through the reek of his arousal. His hands fly up in surrender as even Rollins shrinks back. “Whoa!!! Okay, Boss! Alright, easy!”

 

Frank rips away, handing Brock’s head back to him with a shove and a growl.

 

He doesn't bother looking back as he stalks past. He knows he just lost his cool, and alot of goddamn respect, due to that reaction. He can't focus. He can't keep his emotions in check. And that's dangerous for everyone involved. Frank tries shaking his head to throw off the pleasant, tantalizing buzz: the silky-satin feel of his skin, that fiery red hair, those stormy eyes.

 

Everything got thrown into overdrive as soon as Rumlow opened his goddamn dirty mouth. He wants—no,  _ needs  _ to protect the little omega lawyer. He needs to make sure he is okay. The very idea that anybody might want to hurt him has Frank seeing red.

 

His feet carry him back down the hallway and up the stairs before he even knows what’s happening. He needs to see him, to be near him even if it only means prolonging his suffering. He can't take even the thought of another Alpha so much as  _ existing _ around him, having the privilege of breathing that sweet apple scent or drinking in the sight of that slender, toned frame. Frank is going crazy. This has never happened before, not in all the years he’s been Agent Castle or even before that.

 

He swipes his gear from the hallway along with a small stack of artillery on his way to the last door on the right. Luke is on his knees when he approaches, screwdriver in-hand, a carpenter’s pencil hanging out of his mouth. Frank inspects the door as he is reminded of how it got broken in the first place. 

 

He swallows hard, setting back on one heel in an attempt to look casual as he asks, “How’s it looking?”

 

“Well,” Luke murmurs around the pencil, “I think it will hold for now. Until we can find a better replacement for this beam than just a piece of plywood,  _ we’ll _ have to go easy on it.”

 

Frank feels the heat rising to his face. The inference in Luke’s words don’t escape him, and there’s no use in denying it. “...Thank you.”

 

“No problem.” Luke wipes the dust off on his tac-pants as he rises to his feet and collects his tools. Luke is a few inches taller than Frank—a fact that has always goaded Frank’s more petty side—and has no trouble meeting him eye-to-eye. “Frank...” He swallows. There is an earnestness in his eyes and a sincerity in his voice that tells him Luke is about to launch into one of his speeches.

 

“Remember the Weigon Mission?”

 

Frank blinks. “Yeah.”

 

“That was, what? Two years ago now?”

 

“Somethin’ like that,” Frank mutters. They both know exactly how fucking long ago it was and exactly what fucking happened, but Luke is gracious enough not to call Frank on his bullshit. 

 

“Well, we were right in the thick of things when I met Danny.”

 

Frank quirks an eyebrow as he recalls Luke’s odd behavior towards the end, even remembers making comments about it. He’d had trouble concentrating and was irritable, even for a man with his long-suffering patience. They’d gotten through it, but it was...odd, seeing Luke struggle to keep his head in the game. “Yeah. I remember.”

 

Luke smiles softly and a golden flicker of light enters his dark eyes. “I thought you might Court-Martial me on that trip. Or hell, even can me. I knew it wasn’t my best work, but I felt totally helpless. It was the first time in my life I was actually scared.”

 

Frank scoffs a little at that thought—as if the towering hulk of a man could ever be afraid of anything! As if Frank would ever fire his partner, his best-ever second in command, his friend.

 

”Danny had been caught in the middle and he didn’t even know it. We broke through the office and secured the files the same night his stupid ass thought it’d be a great idea to try and take Turak Weigon down on his own. Frank recalls the vision of a scrawny, curly-haired kid in blue jeans and a hoodie, a yellow bandanna tied around his head, doing some freestyle ninja shit Frank’d never seen and trying to take on the biggest, baddest dude on Frank’s team. He chuckles  fondly. “He thought you were there to protect Weigon. Damn, he was ready to hand you your own ass.”

 

Luke laughs. “He almost did, too. Crazy thing, considering we were on the same damn side. It took forever to pound that idea into his thick skull. That was my mistake. I should have realized it at the time that he’d already gotten into my blood. After he agreed to work with us, all I could think about was his safety. I felt like he was a part of me—the best, most important part—and I barely knew him.”

 

Frank glances over Luke’s shoulder at the door as the hasty, protective feeling tugs at him. It’s nice to reminisce and all, but they’ve got jobs to do, and Frank’s is to guard the...Frank’s eyes falter for a moment as the realization hits him.

 

Luke’s eyes are practically boring holes into him, exposing his softest, weakest points. “Frank. I’m just...I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, man, but if you want, I can take it from here. You’ve got enough on your plate dealing with those two assholes downstairs.”

 

Frank shakes his head like shaking off a beer buzz. “No, I’m good.”

 

Luke levels his eyes with a concerned expression, but Frank nods reassuringly. After a long pause, Luke sweeps up the tool kit with a sigh and steps aside. “Well, I guess if you need anything, radio me.”

 

“Will do,” Frank says a little too quickly Luke is almost to the stairs before Frank calls him back. “And Luke? Thanks.”

 

Luke flashes a reluctant smile over his shoulder as he continues down the hallway.

 

Frank stares at the door. If there was any question to the limit of their privacy, it’s quickly shoved aside when he reaches for the handle and the door jerks open, seemingly of its own accord.

 

Instead of being greeted by the heart-shaped face of a red-haired omega, a scowling blond beta is in its place. He levels his eyes at Frank beneath wavy brown bangs. “He says he doesn’t want you.”

 

Frank quirks an eyebrow. It’s the second time Red has reacted before he could have possibly heard anything. It makes Frank curious and a little leery. “How did he know it was me?”

 

The beta blanches visibly at his mistake.“Er, I mean,any of you! He doesn’t need anything. So thanks anyway but--!”

 

Frank wedges the doorway with his foot as the gap narrows, ensuring it stays open. “You tell your  _ handler _ that any and all resistance to our requests could jeopardize his safety and as such hinder the findings of his case.”

 

Foggy growls menacingly like a chihuahua baring its teeth. If he weren’t so annoying, it’d almost be cute. “ _ So long as I’m in this room _ ,” he growls, “ _ You are not getting in!” _

 

Frank shrugs. “Fair enough.” Careful not to injure Luke’s repair job, Frank swings an arm in, spinning the chubby beta about and practically tossing him into the hallway. In one smooth motion, he maneuvers the bags off his shoulder and kicks the door closed, effectively slamming it in his face and securing the lock.

 

“HEY!”

 

Frank ignores the incessant pounding of the door as he crosses the room. He doesn’t bother to glance at the omega, whom he is certain is flashing a look of disgust his way. Matt lets out an exasperated huff, skirting his way to the door while staying as far away from Frank as possible.

 

“DON’T.” Frank barks. Matt’s hand wavers on the handle. Frank tries again, this time softly. “Please.”

 

“It’s fine, Fog.” Matt calls through the door.

 

“You sure? Is he touching you again? Matt, do you want me to--?”

 

“It’s fine!” This time his tone is one of exhausted agitation. “Go back to the office. Look through the reports and see if something jumps out at you. I’ll be along in a minute.”

 

“Thank you,” Frank murmurs to the sound of Foggy’s reluctantly retreating footsteps.

 

Matt turns his back to the door with his arms crossed, and Frank lets him pout. He’s located the unused dresser, pulling the drawers open and popping his duffel onto the end of the bed.

 

Matt frowns. “What are you doing?”

 

“What do you think? You’re the lawyer. Use your brilliant deduction or that super-powered hearing of yours.” He slams the drawer for good measure. Matt grinds his teeth, and Frank pushes down the nagging guilt. This is for his own good. This is to keep him safe. “I killed the feed to some of the more private areas of the room, but that compromises our response time. In order to compensate for that, it’s best that one of my team stays here.”

 

“ _ You’re _ not staying here,” Matt states stonily.

 

Frank tosses the bagged dirty clothes in the hamper and scoops out the small pile of freshly folded boxer-briefs from the top stack.

 

“Don’t ignore me.” It’s more of a plea than a demand. He sounds haggard, exhausted. Frank lifts his gaze to search the dark lenses on his face, wishing he could see past them to the doe-shaped eyes beneath. “I mean, Jesus, you’ve already taken my privacy, my personal space, my freedom... you could at least leave me some shred of respect.”

 

“You  _ have _ my respect, Red,” Frank murmurs, and as far as he's concerned it's the absolute truth.

 

Now it is Matt’s turn to scoff. He steps a little closer in, and Frank’s shoulders relax. Being alone with him feels so goddamned natural. So  _ right _ .

 

“I’m not staying with you,” he argues.

 

“I’ll take the floor,” Frank offers, as if it might be some consolation.

 

Matt’s arms are still folded tightly across his chest, and his unreadable expression doesn’t help the unease settling deep in Frank’s stomach. To the little lawyer, he might be crossing a line, but dammit, he’s a professional. He’s doing this for duty. For honor. For all that shit they preach about in the Academy that’s supposed to make you proud to serve.

 

“You aren’t listening to me,” Matt murmurs.

 

Frank snaps to attention, the pent-up frustration rekindling the smouldering fire beneath. “I’m not listening?  _ I’m  _ not listening? Look, contrary to what you may think, I  _ appreciate _ that this is difficult for you. That you are obviously a very independent individual. That you are not used to being told where to go or what to do, but your life is in danger. Do you understand that? Despite whatever hare-brained theory you’ve got going on in that head of yours, we are  _ not _ here to make you miserable. We are here to keep you safe, so that you can do your job unhindered...”

 

“Unhindered?” Matthew’s voice cracks. “That’s what you call this? Unhindered? I will tell you the same thing I told Chairmen Tarrel: thanks but no thanks. I have done a pretty good job of defending myself over the years, and I’ll be damned if I need anyone else defending me now! You are in my way—the whole lot of you. I don’t need assistance. And don’t need protection,” Matt pauses here, his usually pouty lips pursed tight before he blurts out for good measure, “least of all the kind YOU have to offer!”

 

Frank knocks the duffel to the floor in the time it takes to close the gap between them, sweeping one leg beneath Matt and clasping both his wrists in his vice-like grip as he falters backward. They both fall to the bed, Matt landing a foot into Frank’s solar plexus before disappearing beneath his over-sized frame. Frank uses pressure points to keep him pinned, flipping Matt onto his belly as he squirms. Other than a growl of frustration, he doesn’t make a sound. Any other omega would be in tears right now. Any other omega not oppressed by the numbing calm of Frank’s pheromones would be distraught and panicking. Matt’s muscles fire between Frank’s thighs, and Frank would be an idiot for denying how good, how  _ right  _ it feels to have that round, muscled ass bucking up against his groin. “WELL?,” Frank barks, giving Matt a shake for aplomb. “I thought you could protect yourself?”

 

The blind lawyer jerks and sputters beneath him, grounding out expletives and calling Frank every dirty name in the book as he tries his damndest to free himself.

 

“You could call for help? You could scream. My men would be banging down the door in a hot second. But no, you are too proud for that, aren’t you?”

 

“What are you waiting for?” Matt screeches suddenly.

 

Frank’s hackles stand pin straight as the comment side-swipes him out of nowhere. His eyes fly wide as all movement ceases, a glow of heat circling his face. “...what?”

 

Matthew has stopped fighting, now thrusting his ass up into Frank’s lap, the heat from the contact feeling like a thousand fireworks against his growing bulge. “It’s what you want, isn’t it? That’s what this is all about, right? Well, are you going to talk about it or do something already? I’m fucking  _ waiting _ !”

 

Frank shoves off instantly, ignoring two hastily-aimed strikes at his head as he backs away. “What? No, that’s not...!”

 

The redhead scrambles towards the head of the bed, balling a pillow in his fists and shaking like a caged animal, his breath jagged and hard. “It’s...it’s all you want, right? All of you.”

 

Frank winces. That hurts more than a thousand bullets ever could. He shakes his head slowly as his senses return, the heat of shame and embarrassment turning his face red. “God, no. No, Red. It ain’t like that for all of us. And it ain’t like that for me.”

 

Matt’s breathing returns to normal over the course of a few tense, silent moments. Frank goes back to his duffel, overturning the contents into the very bottom drawer of the dresser. Fuck militaristic order. He’ll deal with it later. He slides down on the end of the bed, facing away from Red. If the kid wants to smother him with the goddamned pillow, he’ll let him do it. It’s no more than what he deserves.

 

The minutes tick by. When Frank has determined that he is still breathing and will most likely continue to do so (at least for now), he turns to look at his charge.

 

Matt is sitting cross-legged on the bed, so close to Frank that he could reach out and touch him. His eyes are downcast with his head tilted away, but Frank can see a single tear escape his eye and roll down his cheek. He resists the urge to brush it away.

 

‘Sorry’s won’t cut it this time. Frank crossed a line. If this is truly  _ the one— _ as Luke seems to think—then how could Frank be fucking up so  _ epically?!  _ He lets a deep breath roll out before standing up. “Get something comfortable on,” he murmurs. “Meet us downstairs. I guess Luke was planning on making some pulled pork.”

 

“I’m a vegan,” Matt murmurs finally, wiping his face with his sleeve.

 

Frank’s eyebrows shoot up, and he looks over his shoulder at him. “Really?”

 

Matt lets out a haggard chuckle, shaking his head. “No.”

 

Frank feels the familiar pull of a smile crossing his lips.

 

* * * * *

 

Matt is relieved that Frank at least gives him a few minutes to himself to clean up. There is nothing he can do about Frank seeing him cry, but he’s not about to go swimming in a shark tank with an open wound. He takes a good long time washing his face with cold water and makes sure his glasses are pushed the whole way up his nose. Looking in the mirror to see just how bloodshot his eyes are isn’t a luxury he has.

 

Taking a centering breath, he concentrates on locating the men on the floor below by sound. Frank is back out on the balcony—though thankfully sans cigarette this time—while Luke is in the kitchen humming along to some seventies Mo-town. Matt can’t seem to remember the names of the other two. He’s taken to silently calling them “Tweedle Dumb-Ass” and “Tweedle Dumb-Fuck.” Dumb-Ass is the slightly less annoying of the two and merely snickers at the other ones’ jokes, and Dumb-Fuck is the loud spiteful one who seems to be in charge. Both Tweedles are coming up the hall towards Matt’s room, and he prays that they both decide to turn back before they reach his door. He gets half his wish. Dumb-Ass turns on his heel and goes back down when Dumb-Fuck tells him too. Matt grits his teeth and groans, not knowing how much more he can handle in one day.

 

Before a knock sounds at the door, Matt can smell the acrid stench of bad cologne trying to cover over the Alpha’s natural rancid cooking oil pheromones. To say the smell is horrible would be like saying that the Grand Canyon was a crack in the pavement. While Matt had been aware of the smell before, the waning effects of his last dose of suppressants let in way more than he’d gotten the first time. It takes all of his will power not to barf when the door is thrown open before Matt could even say to come in.

 

“Dinner is served, princess,” Dumb-Fuck announces in a bored tone.

 

“Thanks,” Matt mumbles, “I’m not hungry.”

 

“I’m sorry”, The alpha growls. “Maybe you didn’t realize that wasn’t a request.”

 

Forcing his well-practiced bored mask into place, Matt shrugs and let his lips quirk up just a bit at the corners. “If you need to believe that make yourself feel better… Either way, I’m not hungry. You can pass along my appreciation to Luke when you go back down. Also, next time you will knock before you enter my room. I’m sure Councilwoman Tarrel would love to hear how you are interfering with my work.”

 

“Fuck,” Dumb-Fuck curses roughly under his breath. “You really are high and mighty piece of tail. So someone gave you a piece of paper letting you be a lawyer and now you think you’re above your betters? Let me tell you something, you little cunt: I don’t care whose cock you sucked to become a DA, you are still nothing more than a limp-dicked Omega in a suit. I’m not afraid of you or your fancy ass friends.”

 

“No wonder you’re at the bottom of Agent Castle’s pecking order,” Matt says, daring to laugh this time.

 

Dumb-Fuck lets out a growl and stomps across the floor. Even without his heightened hearing, Matt could have easily side stepped Dumb-Fuck’s advance, but he doesn’t. He lets the agent grab a fist full of his shirt and push him backwards. It’s almost laughable how easily Matt ever-so-gently alters their direction so that his back slams against the bathroom door.

 

“You arrogant little fuck! I am really gonna enjoy stuffing that ass of yours when your heat rolls around.” Dumb-Fuck shoves his face directly in Matt’s neck and breathes in deeply. “I love the smell of a scared Omega, especially arrogant ones like you.”

 

Matt had intended to be a bit more subtle about just how he did this, but the stench combined with the alpha’s threats send him over the edge. In one swift motion, Matt turns the door knob and takes a step back into the bathroom. There was a lovely marble countertop directly to his left, and he forces Dumb-fuck face forward into the edge as he falls with a resounding CRACK. It probably isn’t the best thing he could do, but he lands a kick to the Alpha’s midsection before he can get back up. Embarrassingly, the short alpha kicks and groans as his boots sound like sneakers against the slick tile. Matt can't help but snicker. Oh, if only he could actually see it: he knows all that Kevlar weighs the bastard down and that he’s flopping around like a turtle on its back, but his expression has to be priceless. Instinctively, Matt clamps a hand over his mouth as Dumb-Fuck sputters, “Fucking  _ cunt _ ! You better run or I’m gonna… I’m gonna...”

 

Matt may be pushing his luck, but he’s sure it's no more than the cocky shit deserves and it's far too good a feeling to resist. His shoe Find’s Dumb-fuck’s chest, pressing him down onto the slick tile as he grins down over him. He cocks his head innocently as the Alpha snarls. “Or you’ll what? Oh no, but what can I do against such a big, strong powerful alpha?” The squirming man beneath his foot lets out a howl of frustration as his claws scrape against Matt’s shoe. “Need I remind you,  _ Officer,  _ you were ordered here  _ for my safety _ ? And I have a feeling that Senior Agent Castle wouldn't take kindly to one of his men so violently accosting the very person they’ve been ordered to protect. Correct me if I’m wrong, but he seems like the type of man who doles out punishments that go far beyond the acceptable  _ protocol.  _ ”

 

The mention of Dumb-Fuck’s superior seems to do the trick. He lets out a surrendering grunt and lets his head head thud to the floor. The radio on his pack fizzles and the voice of Agent Cage comes through.

 

>Brock, what’s the holdup? Food’s getting cold down here.<

 

Matt can feel the volatile stare being cast his way as Rumlow grunts and groans his way to his feet. He grabs a rag and runs the water, turning his back to the injured agent as he begins to clean. He can smell the spray of blood on the countertop and can only assume there’s some on the floor, too. “Tell them I'll be down shortly.” 

 

When he hears the footsteps of the retreating Alpha reach the bottom steps, he drops the rag in the sink, wrinkling his nose at the agent’s scent one last time. The argument that ensues below him doesn't matter. He knows that it will be the same old, tired argument Alpha’s always use. Dumb-fuck will claim Matt led him on and then got violent when he “just gave the Omega what he asked for.” And, of course, next Dumb-fuck will claim that he was only hurt because he was restraining himself from hurting the “weaker” man. Dumb-fuck isn’t the first to use these excuses and he won’t be the last. Why should Matt strain his ears to hear it all?

 

Instead, Matt is just  grateful for the few moments away from prying eyes and people who don't know how to mind their own business. He crosses to his bed stand, taking out the disposable phone and using the braille keyboard to send a message to the phone’s only contact.

 

(I’m headed out now.Things are getting complicated.)

 

The phone buzzes back seconds later. (Okay. Same place we discussed. I'll wait for you there.)

 

Grabbing a set of plain gym clothes from his bag, he heads back into the bathroom to take advantage of the ever growing louder ruckus below. Matt has no extra time to think this through, and this may very well be his only opportunity. Foggy helped him configure the camera placement after Frank’s team screwed with everything.They should have a nice view of the sink and corner of the shower, leaving the window above the toilet unseen. As an added precaution, he turns on the shower to full blast before climbing on the back of the tank. The running water should be loud enough to drown out any sound he makes as he slips out the window and onto his predetermined path of escape. The frame is so tight against his shoulders as he squeezes through it that is a bit painful, but he manages. Even if Frank and his team were staring right at the monitors, he’d be long gone before they knew about it.

 

Matt follows the outline of trees to the small gravel road and breaks out into a run. It's not far away--just a few miles--but the wind blowing through his hair and the crisp air in his lungs feels exactly like freedom, and it takes all he has not to just keep running. He could run as far as his legs could carry him. He could just disappear. 

 

But there is still a job to be done. Voiceless victims whose stories need to be told, thousands more who could be spared the same fate. A corrupt tyrant’s empire is on the verge of collapsing and Matt can give it that final push off the abyss. 

It’s a nearly rotted away old cabin, nestled in amongst a nondescript group of trees. Elektra added a few tarps to the roof and a bit of camouflaging. She says the place is nearly invisible in daylight, but it makes little difference to him. He slips round back through a back door made to look inoperable. Despite the disrepair of the outside, the inside is dry and warm. 

 

He makes out a slender, long-haired female form and breathes a sigh of relief. Her scent is probably the most familiar to him of any--orchids, red wine, and cloves. She smells like home, in a strange, twisted way. Matt has never known a woman as dangerous as Elektra, but he’s also never known a person he trusts more aside from his father.

 

“Matthew,” the soft voice greets him. She pulls him close. To anyone else, it would look like a hug, but instead she merely sniffs around him. A low growl emanates from deep within her. 

Matthew flushes--surely, she can smell the strange Alphas all around him--- on his skin, in his hair. And maybe she is even scenting  _ one  _ Alpha in particular. She pulls away, holding him at arm's length “Two beta’s, a half-dozen Alphas and blood? Playing dangerous games already?”

 

Letting out a non-commital grunt, he shrugs. “One of the agents needed a bit of a lesson on the care of his charges.”

 

Still nosing the air like a mountain cat, she murmurs “And who is the one sharing your bed?”

 

It’s no use denying that the scent of Frank still lingers on his skin. Instead, he changes the subject. “Thank you for doing all this for me.”

 

Elektra quirks an eyebrow. “Matthew? Who is he? Or don't you know his name yet?”

 

“I'm not sure what you’re insinuating--” He is cut off by a husky laugh that is as practiced as his bravado.

 

“When have I ever needed to insinuate anything? You know precisely what I am asking you and why. Letting an Alpha get too close jump started your hormones to the point that you can’t even wait another day for your suppressants, and I not supposed to ask questions?” She crossed her arms and leaned against the old dry sink. 

 

Sighing, Matt swipes hand across his eyes. “I wasn’t prepared for him to be as intense as he is.”

 

“He’s Apex, Matthew,” Elektra says with a  mix of compassion and disapproval. “He is dangerous. You should have guarded yourself better.”

 

The words hitting him like a freight train. It's one thing to know what Frank is, quite another to hear it said aloud. He knows exactly what that means--they both do. Not many people believe that true Apex Alpha’s even exist. The government has done their work in regulating their existence to near fairytales, and the average person has no idea that the scant handful of Apexes living currently are waging secret wars among them. In fact, the last “Apex” to be acknowledged in plain sight was Steve Rogers--Captain America--a sickly Beta engineered into an Alpha stronger than all the rest. The first and last of his kind, if the official story was to be believed. Proof that that story was entirely bullshit was standing in front of him, and further proof was back at the mansion probably having a fit.

 

As she turns to retrieve something from her satchel, Matt feels the rage that’s been building inside of him boil over. “Don't you think I  _ know _ that? Do you think I wanted this? All this security? The cameras, the wires, the invasion of my office? I don't WANT them here!”

 

“Then don't  _ invite  _ them into your bed,” she purrs coolly.

 

“It’s not what you...nothing happened,” Matthew corrects himself mid-sentence. This is an argument that he’s tired of having and one he won’t win. He doesn’t add fuel to her fire by telling her the very man she is warning him about is the same one that's going to be sharing his bedroom---if not his bed---for the duration.

 

“Please be careful, Matthew. This one, he's not like the rest. Just know that and be aware of him, at all times.” The judgemental tone of her voice is stripped, revealing the earnest concern beneath. She lets the disagreement rest and begins rifling through a large bag. “I spent nearly enough to feed a small country to get you these, but I managed to get you a four month supply.” 

 

“This should be more than enough.” He squeezes her shoulder lightly, flashing his signature smile. He knows that she is more concerned with his safety using the drugs than in the money she spent to obtain him. It’s a sign of just how much she cares and how much respect she has for him. He takes neither for granted “Thank you,” he tells her squeezing her fingers.

 

Public touches and displays of affection between them are calculated, but near non-existent when they are alone. As a rule, they don’t touch very often. Touch between an Alpha--an Apex especially--and an Omega can sway hormone shifts, but that isn’t why they avoid it. Both of them have been stripped of something very fragile inside of him. For Elektra it is her natural gender and ability to trust that those around her are reacting to  _ her _ and not her pheromones. And Matt… Well, that is a very complicated thing. In general, he doesn’t allow Alpha’s to touch him as a way to exert his own autonomy. While he knows Elektra would respect his right to consent, he can’t let her touch him for fear of being overcome. His sense of independence and worth was whittled away to next to nothing by those who saw his natural emotions as a reason to deny him his rights. It took years to gain even the smallest amounts of either back, and he can’t risk ever letting himself lose them--not even to her. 

 

Elektra brushes the back of his hand lightly before stepping away under the ruse of needing the papers from her bag. “The second thing you asked me for was a bit harder than writing a check. Agent Castle’s military career and work for the Secret Service has been highly classified to the point that even his birth records have been redacted. It could have taken years to slip through all of their red tape and security.”

Matt chuckles. “Meaning it took you all of… what? A day?”

 

“Faith, Matthew. I thought you catholics had it in spades,” she murmurs in mock outrage. “Two hours.”

 

“I don’t suppose you feel like emailing me the files?” he prompted.

 

“Already done. And I do hope your fingertips are ready for some exercise,” she says, sounding bored. “The cliffnotes version, however, amounts to him being an integral part in what little success our military has had in the Middle East. His black-ops team was the only thing keeping multiple wolves from blowing down every straw house built overseas. The move from the war theater to the homefront was apparently something that warranted the attention of even the president.”

 

“Fuck,” Matt breathes raggedly. “So what your telling me is that someone way higher up than the Councilwoman had to have been pulling the strings to get him here?”

 

“Precisely.”

 

“In other words, Fisk has become a national security threat that they can’t take down head on. They are using me and the lower courts to just slow him and his allies down.” Matt’s stomach feels sour at the thought of it. “Do you think they know about the Hand’s actual involvement?”

 

Crossing her arms over her middle, Elektra shrugs. “That’s a level of security not even I have been able to breech. The whole thing just became a little more involved than taking out Fisk and muddling up Nobu’s plans.” She takes a deep breath, and for a millisecond, Matt could swear she almost seems frightened. “I called in backup.”

 

“You didn’t.” Ice sweeps through Matt’s veins. “Please tell me you called anyone but  _ him _ .”

 

“Believe me,” she murmurs softly, “I wish I could.”

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Frank is just about to light up his second cigarette since he’s arrived when Micro appears on the patio looking pale. “You need to see this now!”

If Micro hadn’t looked pale as a fucking ghost and rattled to the core, Frank might have balked at the beta ordering him around. Instead he tucked the unlit cigarette behind his ear and followed to the monitors. At first, all he saw was Rumlow standing in front of Red and then the audio kicks in…

“ _I love the smell of a scared Omega, especially arrogant ones like you.”_

Rage catapulted Frank to the door where he runs face first into Luke--who he hadn't even noticed until right then. Luke puts his hands gently on Frank’s shoulders, but Frank is too furious to be calmed. “Agent Cage you will move the fuck out of my way or I will tear through you.”

“Frank, whatever you do up there could end up putting Matt in danger… remember that.” Luke moves aside reluctantly at a glacial pace. By the time Frank is pushing by him, a crash sounds from both the monitor and above.

Frank’s head whips around just in time to see Matt put Rumlow face first into the countertop. All three men stare in absolute shock as Red buries his foot into Rumlow’s ribs. Blindness aside, Frank has only seen an Omega with the balls to take down an Alpha once. Even then, Danny never did it with the sheer brutality that Red just displayed. The twist of his lips isn’t of someone reluctantly putting down an enemy, but of someone who enjoys doling out justice with his fists.

“Jesus,” Micro murmurs, cutting through the haze. “I knew I liked that guy, but now I’m in love.”

“Luke, go upstairs and peel Rumlow off the floor. Get him cleaned up and have him stay in his quarters until I sort this out,” Frank commands the second his brain fully engages. Watching Red kick the shit out of the asshole has cooled Frank’s rage just enough that he can start thinking again. He knows that he can’t be trusted upstairs until there is zero chance of coming face to face with his bloodied subordinate.

Luke gives a curt nod. “On it, Boss.”

“Micro, I want you to go make sure Murdock is all right. Stay by his side until I come up.”

The tech doesn’t move instantly. “But, Frank…”

“I said go!” Frank roars in response.

Still not moving, Micro points to the screen. “Look at the fucking monitor, asshole!”

When he does, he catches just enough to see Red leave the frame. He can just barely see the base of the john and Red’s feet leaving the floor. At first, he doesn’t get what he’s seeing, and then it clicks…

“Luke, get in Murdock’s bathroom now!” he yells through the com as he races up the stairs.

Frank makes it into the room a split second after Luke does. He pushes passed his friends hulking shoulders and his stomach drops. The fucking bathroom is empty. In his entire life, even in a fire fight, Frank has never truly felt fear like this--anger and sadness, but never just pure unadulterated fear. The feeling leaves him in an almost drugged-like state to the point that he can hear Luke already stepping up and giving orders, but doesn’t care. The only thing is that his Omega is in danger and it is all his fault.

  


A moment later, Luke is tugging at his arm. “Frank, now isn’t the time to check out. Matt needs you.”

Frank nods as the reality starts to bleed back in. “I want Rumlow manning the monitors. Shove Nelson and Micro in the safe room. Rollins can take the North perimeter. You can take the South. I want constant contact.”

“Already on it.” Luke tosses the kitchen towel still draped over his shoulder onto the bed and holsters his service pistol.

The next thirty-nine minutes are agony.

\---------------------------------

The atmosphere is different this time around. The crickets have quieted, the nightingales have started to sing, and a cool breeze blows across the overgrown grass. Matt imagines the sun must be touching the outline of the woods by now. The soft glow of the dying light warms his face. It's so peaceful, so serene, that it almost makes him forget about exactly what he's running back to. Almost.

In total, he couldn't have been gone more than 25 minutes. He’d taken the path a day prior, made sure to pack his best running shoes and his cane—just in case along the way and for show when he was visible to others. Even on a bad day, Matt could easily run a 4 minute mile. Still, as he approaches the line of trees leading back to the house it becomes apparent that he’s been officially “missing”---and the storm of commotion has increased into a full blown hurricane. He hears Tweedle Dumbfuck announce his presence, pointing out at him from the back NERV center as the others coming running back from their posts, a clatter of weapons and armor.

Matt is glad he can't see Frank’s expression. He is out front of the rest, charging towards him, and if Matt didn't know better he'd think Frank is there to kill him, not save him. The man smells like sweat and adrenaline. The blood in his veins is pulsing loud enough that he might have been able to hear it even without his gifts. He knows the best tactic is to deflect the man’s anger. Matt readies his trove of snarky comments, building his defenses as Frank comes nearer. He opens his mouth, his wit at-the-ready as the towering Alpha closes the distance, his impossibly large hand reaching out and capturing Matt’s wrist in a vice like grip.

His calloused fingers dig into the pad of Matt’s palm, the sheer force of the grab setting his arm aflame. He bites his tongue to keep from crying out. Frank’s heart is pounding as fast as an engine’s pistons fire, and if he knows he’s hurting the much smaller omega, he certainly shows no concern towards it.

He pulls Matt towards the porch, half-hauling him up the steps and it feels as if Matt’s arm is tearing right out of its socket. His indignance screams for him to say something, to stop this, to fight back, but there's something deadly in the deafening silence of the Alpha’s rage. Once again, the gruff-voiced, rough-handed Senior Agent is treating him the way he’s spent a lifetime running from, making him feel the omega-typical feelings of despair, helplessness, and fear. Matt wants it to stop. He wants to run away, instantly regretting his decision to come back. He should have kept running. He should have never looked back.

Thankfully, it seems he's not the only one concerned. Luke’s calm, sensible voice intervenes as he lays a hand on his superior’s shoulder, causing him to pause long enough for Matt to catch his balance. “Frank…”

With guttural growl that comes from some dark place deep inside of him, Frank shoves the tall Alpha way, barging past him.  He yanks Matt through the back porch door and inside without so much as a word.

“Everybody in,” Luke orders with a belabored sigh. “Asset is in custody.”

Matt doesn't want him to turn away, but he does, seemingly resigned to ordering the two Tweedles around in his Boss’ stead. Matt feels his pride slip for a moment as he considers pleading his case. But what could he possibly say, even if they’d listen?

Matt lets out a relieved breath as Foggy scrambles to him, doing his best to seem shocked that he was gone. “Matt! Oh my God, are you okay? Where did you go?”

“You knew about this!” Frank bellows, pouncing on Foggy like a lion onto a slightly plump gazelle.

“WHAT? Me? No,” Foggy says, falling all over his own words.

For all of his talk of talking on guilty clients to make a buck, lying has never been his strong suit. It occurs to Matt, somewhere in the midst of the pain and confusion, that the one attribute he and Frank might have in common is the ability to spot a lie. Frank is only slightly more gentle in shoving Foggy away.

“Stop!” Matt finally manages. It comes out more like a plea than a command.

His reply is a sudden sharp jerk forward. His free hand juts out for balance, finding it in the Kevlared plane of Frank’s chest.

“You wanna do this here?” Comes the seething snarl.

Matt goes rigid. _What is he talking about_? All at once it feels his breath being stolen out of his lungs. He wishes he could search Frank’s face for answers--maybe he could find a speck of decency, a shred of humanity there. This man who just hours earlier held him in the circle of his arms had turned into a monster, and even Matt has to wonder if he wasn’t the one who had forced the change. He opens his mouth but finds no words there.

With a grunt, Frank hauls him up the stairs. Matt doesn't recall his feet ever touching the ground in that time. Frank throws wide the door to the bedroom and without warning, Matt is roughly deposited at the foot of the bed. He wants to shrink away, deep down into the covers where no one can ever find him. His breath hitches as Frank strides toward him, his brain scrambling to make sense of what Frank is doing. He can hear metal clinking as he pulls something from his vest pocket. All at once he realizes what Frank is about to do and Matt is very grateful he didn't partake in a meal. He'd have lost everything in his stomach by now. The fighter in him is sizing up his opponent, frantically calculating the best place to hit him and where. If Frank’s pheromones are supposed to make Matt woozy with complaisance, they are failing miserably.

Matt flinches as Frank leans in, the smell of him suddenly making his stomach do backflips. “St-stop!” Matt tries again, this time balling his fist and reeling back, ready to strike.

Terror is replaced by embarrassment and rage, none of which Matt is able to express before the sensation of cold steel clamps around his wrists, followed by the sharp SNICK of a lock. He knows in his gut that he is about to be locked away in his room like some Omega-in-distress from the old fairy stories. Just another way to keep him safe, he’s sure that he will be told later.

Frank slaps a matching cuff to his own wrist.

“What...what did you do that for?” Matt shrieks.

The Alpha gives his cuffed wrist a tug, bringing his face level with Matt’s. The reply is seething with anger. “Insurance.”

*****

Frank is shaking. Every part of his body is wracked uncontrollably and there’s no use hiding it now. He's never been brought to the edge like this. In all his years as a Senior Agent, not _one_ of his charges has ever slipped from his reach, and of fucking course, it had to be _this_ one. A million and one possibilities of how this could have ended race through his thoughts as he feels himself calming down. He is still grappling with the fact that he could have lost the one thing in his entire damned life that has ever made him feel truly fulfilled. By now, there is no other choice than to admit that he has truly found his bonded mate, and he will be damned if he lets anyone take that away--not even Red.

Red lets out an indignant growl as Frank gropes the pockets of his bulky jogging sweater   Frank ignores him, brushing away the clawing fingers as he tries to maneuver between the cuffs binding them and digging through the contents. The little shit can be as pissed off as he wants but those cuffs aren’t coming off until Frank is one hundred percent sure he doesn’t need them--which will take a hell of an argument from the lawyer to convince him of. Once Red has given up on getting the keys, he lands a quick jab to Frank’s ribs that would have made a lesser man crumble like rag doll.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” the Omega demands.

“Wrong with me?” A dark laugh escapes Frank’s lips.“There are some very bad men looking for you right now, and you just dangled a fresh piece of raw meat right in front of their noses! Do you think a team like me gets called in over nothing? No, you’re smarter than that so now I need to know just what the fuck you were thinking? What exactly was worth exposing yourself like that? And don’t even lie and say that Rumlow scared you, because if that was the case, there’s no fucking way you’d come back.”

The lawyer pays no attention to the question, so Frank begins patting at Matt’s clothes. He wrenches Frank’s free hand away with surprising force, bending it backward so far that if Frank were a smaller man it might break. “You _must_ be a special kind of psychotic if you think I'm just going to let you--”

Faster than a flash, Frank counters the move, spinning Matt’s only free hand into his grip and twisting his arm behind him, effectively pinning him to the bed. “We can play this game all day if you’d like,” he grounds out. “There is _nothing_ of yours that is secret from me, Red. I don't want to hurt you, but so help me God you _will_ stop resisting!” Frank dodges Matt’s kicks as he feels his way down each leg. He plunges into the deep pockets, growling sharply as his hand stumbles across a plastic package, rubber banded tight around four bottles that rattle as he pulls them out.

He lets him up with a slight shove as he peers down at the bottles. “What are these?” Even as he asks the question, his stomach sours. He has a damn good inkling he already knows the answer.

Matt makes an unsuccessful grab for them and glares up in his captor’s direction. “You _will_ give those back.”

“What are they?” Frank presses.

Matt looks away with an exasperated huff. “They’re my medicine.”

“Medicine?” Frank scowls. He’s read thoroughly over all his assets’ medical histories, including past surgeries and current medications. They are no medication that any doctor would prescribe--especially not if they want to keep their license. Frank _needs_ Red to be honest about what they are.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Matt sneers.

“Wouldn’t I?” It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell Matt about the ring he has to wear, but a part of him is screaming that it wouldn’t matter. Red’s mind is already made up. Frank tears the bag open with his teeth, rattling them experimentally an squinting as he tries to read the label. It's in a foreign language. He pops open the cap as Matt cries his protests.

The smell of sheer, unadulterated _chemical_ fills the air. Frank groans, burying his face in the crook of his arm. He'd know the sterile, almost bleach-like scent of suppressants anywhere. What is available in the States is bad enough, but this shit’s strong enough to knock him on his ass. So _this_ is why the little shit has been so resistant to Frank's pheromones. It’s really worse than he’d thought, and the disappointment that gnaws at Frank is relentless. “So this is what you were after.”

Beneath his dark red lenses, Matt’s scowl deepens. He holds his free hand out, palm-up, expectantly. “You’ve had your fun. Now give them back.”

Frank grunts. “You don't seem to have a rational grasp of the situation, Red. These suppressants, see, they’re not of the _legal_ variety. I don't know where you got 'em, but I know for damn sure they aren't safe.”

“Safer than you are,” Matt murmurs, his hand dropping to the bed.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Frank stumbles back slightly, eyes fluttering. “What?”

“I take them to fend off alphas,” Matt explains. “The ones like your Rumlow, who looks at any unmated omega as easy pickings. The ones that have been shaming me my whole life, insisting that I’d be much better fulfilled as a homemaker, heavily pregnant and just waiting in the kitchen for my Alpha to come home.”

“But you said safer than _me,”_ Frank quietly presses even though he's fairly sure he won't like the answer.

Matt sniffs bitterly, gazing into the distance. “You talk a good game, Castle. Of things like “honor” and “duty” and “safety”. But I'm sure that way down deep, even you can't deny where you think I should be.”

Frank swallows. “And where's that?”

Matt lets out a bitter chuckle to fill the pause, gesturing with his cuffed hand, pulling on the chain that binds them together. “I should think it obvious.”

Frank feels the heat rush to his face. “I told you before Red, it ain't like that. This is for your own...”

“Safety. Yeah, I got it.”

Frank straightens up, the righteous rage he felt watching Matt making his way across the lawn just moment earlier returning with a vengeance to hide the hurt. “So that’s it, huh? You think I'm just like _them_ , that all you are to me is a hole to plug?”

Now it's Matt that's doing the backpedaling, his face screwing up in startled concern as he pushes himself as far away as possible. “I… I didn't say...”

“Didn't have to.” Frank jams the precious pills at him, rattling them in his face and pulling them just out of Matt’s reach when he grabs for them. If it's an overbearing Alpha he wants, that's exactly what he’s going to get. Frank grins wryly. “You know what these are, little Omega? Fucking _poison_. I wouldn't let my worst enemy down a drug like this. And give it time; your system will reject these, if it hasn't started to already. I'm not about to have an Asset die on my watch for the sake of his own vanity. Especially not a helpless, fragile _Omega_ like _you_.”

Without warning, he gives the cuffs a firm YANK, hauling Matt up from the edge of the bed and dragging him into the bathroom.

“Wait! Wh...what are you doing!?” Matt shrieks. Frank brushes off another scrambled attempt as he flicks the light on and half-hauls the redhead in after him. “Frank!?!”

Frank flips the toilet lid up so hard it nearly cracks.

“Frank, I'm serious! Please don’t!”

It's not any use. Frank is so much bigger, so much stronger than the little lawyer. He could have a thousand years of martial arts training and he still wouldn’t even begin to be able to defeat Frank like this. Not in close-range. Not without the use of all four limbs.

Frank empties the bottles one-by-one and flushes, watching them go down in a hazy blue swirl until they all disappear. It should feel good to see the fucking things go. It should feel good to make Matt pay. It doesn’t.

“No!”

Matt can kick and punch and throw a fit as much as he wants, what's done is done. Frank sighs in relief even as his arms and chest get smattered with jabs and punches and Matt wrenches his arm nearly out of it's socket as he scrambles to get away. Finally, Frank wraps his arms tightly around him even as he throws his head and screams in frustration.

“That's enough now, Red. It's done. Shhh. It's alright. You’re alright.”

Matt flashes him a glare that is surprisingly accurate, as if Frank has killed his mother and father and spat on the bodies. “Don’t _touch_ me,” he hisses, shoving him away, eyes wide and angry and glistening with tears.

Frank supposes he should say he's sorry. He feels the guilt gnawing at his gut, but he can't help but feel a bit relieved that Matt is back, safe and that the poison is gone. It can’t hurt him anymore.

To say that the evening thereafter is tense would be a profound understatement. Matt is silent for the most part, keeping his head turned away from Frank. Frank lets Matt drag him around the room as he works—after all, he's got nowhere to be except for with his Asset—and Matt seemingly is trying his best to pretend that there's not a 6’7, 250 lb Alpha on the other end of the chain. The only time Matt addresses Frank directly is when he asks Frank to keep his arm in a position that allows the blind man to read his Braille paperwork more easily. Once Frank complies, Red’s fingers are flying over document after document. Every now and then, he will make few notes on his keyboard and then go back to it, but that is as much varied as the evening gets.

For his part, Frank is glad he downloaded those three new puzzle games before he left. He manages to do those one handed as he tries to stay as comfortable as possible in a too-small office chair. After a couple of hours have passed, his arm is cramping like a bitch from the strange position, and he’s silently rejoicing when Matt takes a break. Frank can’t tell who’s benefit the time is actually for and he isn’t willing to ask. He radios for some light food to be brought up and a few drinks, hoping he can convince the stubborn Omega to eat something. He's got to be ravenous by now. Hell, Frank can feel his belly bone practically rubbing his spine, and he’s at least eaten a few protein bars since they’ve been chained together.

Matt stretches—again, reminding Frank of a cat in the way he moves his lithe muscles. The power of the urge to close the scant distance between them and touch the narrow bit of skin exposed as Red raises his arms takes Frank by surprise. He’d noticed the changes coming as Matt worked. The games had done a decent enough job of keeping Frank’s mind from dwelling on them, but now the Alpha in him keeps bringing him back to the red-headed Omega. His scent is stronger now. It’s sweeter than Frank even remembers, and Frank has a hard time keeping his mouth from watering. To redirect his thoughts, he drags his mind back to food.

“Luke’s grub’s usually best fresh, but it reheats better than most shit you get from a restaurant these days,” Frank murmurs.

Matt shrugs. “I’m not hungry, but go ahead and eat while I work.”

Before Frank can inform the Omega that he will indeed being eating, Luke appears in the doorway, knocking softly. The large agent shoots Frank a quizzical stare that borders on judgemental. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Matt says a little too quickly, cutting Frank off as he opens his mouth to answer. “Everything's fine.”

Frank shrugs at Luke’s questioning glance.

Luke’s eyes drop to the cuffs and back up as he raises an unsteady eyebrow. “Boss, do we need to…?”

“Have a talk?” Frank finishes. “No, Agent Cage. Thank you.”

“Frank,” Luke says warningly. It's no secret that Luke doesn't always agree with Frank’s methods. Imprisoning Omegas is probably one of the ones at the top of the list. He’s giving Frank one of those “ _you sure about this?”_ kind of looks as he balances the tray of goodies. Frank gestures for him to leave the tray on the desk and gives him a nod of dismissal.

Frank tries the bowl of fruit first. He chews on the inside of his mouth, debating on politely requesting that Matt try the food that Luke had so painstakingly prepared. Maybe even taking one of the pieces in his fingers and gently offering it up to Matt’s lips…? When he thinks of the probability of getting the food shoved right back into his face, however, he settles for plopping the heaping bowl directly on top of the page Matt is working on and giving an authoritative grunt. “Eat”, he orders.

Matt’s hands ball into fists and his words come carefully controlled, as if holding back a tidal wave of rage. “I told you, I'm not hungry.”

Frank lets out an exasperated sigh. “Look, I get it. You're not happy with me. That's no reason to starve yourself.”

“Not happy with you?” Matt hisses. “Agent Castle, being _not happy with you_ is the least of my goddamn problems.” He shoves the bowl away, his fingers tracing the Braille on the page.

Frank swallows his pride and the impatient anger he feels building inside. “‘Kay. Fine.” He returns the bowl just a few centimeters Matt’s way, ignoring the angry snort of warning from the lawyer and crossing his legs as he returns to his phone. Frank had planned on ordering the Omega to eat, but in hindsight that probably wasn’t his best idea. He resists the urge to chuckle out loud as Red angrily pops a grape in his mouth before tearing into everything the Alpha offers him. He knows that the Omega will stop eating if Frank so much as dares state the obvious--that Red was hungry as hell.

Getting ready for bed is an interesting challenge. Somehow they manage to share a sink and brush their teeth at the same time, and Matt reminds Frank of how ridiculous he's being when he has to unlatch one cuff at a time for them to change into their pajamas. Frank decides on the thickest pair of sweats he owns, hoping it will help hide up any impending “bump” that might result in them sharing the same bed again. Matt in turn, grabs his pajamas and shoves Frank out the door as he changes, leaving only the slight crack where the short chain connects them.

He snarls and flicks off the light. He certainly doesn't need it to change, and he's just insuring that Frank doesn't sneak a peak while he's dressing. Frank chuckles.

“What so funny?” Matt retorts.

“You're not the first omega I've seen naked before, you know. You afraid I'll be driven wild with lust? That I won't be able to control myself on account of your stunning beauty?” The words must cut deeper than Frank’s intended because the look on Red’s face is nothing short of anguished. He almost has time to feel sorry for the comment before Matt jerks him forward suddenly, sending Frank’s face into the door. He howls as his head snaps back, rubbing his throbbing forehead. “OWH! Fucking brat!”

Now it's Matt’s turn to chuckle.

Matt insists on burying himself beneath a triple-layer of covers, scooching as far away as possible from Frank and turning with his back to him. He even tucks one of the myriad of pillows on the bed between them--like a fucking pillow would do a damn thing to stop an Apex like Frank if he really decided to do anything. Matt positions himself facing away from Frank with his arm draped backward between them. The lawyer grunts and shifts around multiple times before Frank says anything.

“It would be more comfortable if you let me get closer,” Frank points out.

“Nice try,” Red mutters dryly back.

“Get over yourself,” Frank huffs. “Not every Alpha around you wants to rape you. Believe it or not, you _are_ resistible.” The last bit was meant to remind Frank that yes, he really could resist the body next to him, but of everything that he’s said, that bit seems to connect the hardest.

Beside him, Red stops all of his squirming and sucks in a sharp breath. Frank is about to ask just what he’s said wrong this time when Red sits up in the bed to face him. The sharp yank on the chain hurts like hell, but any thought he had of admonishing the Omega leaves him the second he gets a good look at Red’s face. As he has been all night, it’s pretty fucking obvious that he’s pissed off. It’s not his anger that catches Frank off, but the heartache. With his eyes plain to see without his glasses, the pain etched in his expression is absolutely breathtaking. Every instinct inside of Frank is screaming to hold Red close and comfort him, but he pushes those needs deep inside.

Matt takes a long, steady breath. “Cuff me to Agent Cage if you have to, but I want you gone from this room.”

“Red, don’t…”

“Don’t call me that,” he snaps coldly. “I mean it; I want you out of here now.”

Frank does his best to keep calm at the thought of another Alpha chained to Red—even a mated one like Luke—but the image sends furious shards of jealous through his veins. He knows he’d sooner jump head first into a fucking wood chipper than let it happen. And even if the beast inside of him wasn’t going insane with the need to keep the other Alphas away, there is a very logical reason why it isn’t possible.

“With all due respect, Matt, I can’t do that,” he says softly.

Something in his voice must have struck a chord, and the blind man’s expression waivers. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Both,” Frank admits. “If I’m being totally honest, the answer is both. The reason I can’t let another Alpha in here is that I am the only one on any kind of suppressant at all. Tarrel left out the bit about you being an Omega, so we didn’t necessarily plan for this. I don’t think I need to tell you what would happen if you were chained to an unsuppressed Alpha should you go into heat.”

Red lets out a defeated sigh. He opened his mouth to say something and then changes his mind. Clamping his jaw closed, he lays down on his side a touch closer than he had before. Frank is about to turn off the light, when Matt speaks up. “What’s the other reason?”

Frank frowns. “Other reason?”

“That sounded like the reason you _can’t_ let me chained to another Alpha. It doesn’t explain the reason you _won’t_. Is it because you’re still pissed at me for running?” Red asks. His voice almost sounds vulnerable

“I am still pissed at you for running,” Frank agrees with a heavy sigh, “but that’s not it. Has it occurred to you at all that I might actually want to be around you? God help me, it’s not my best fucking moment, but you are getting to me, Red. You’re an arrogant, stubborn pain in my ass, but I can’t help how I feel.”

Matt lets out a huff that could mean any of a million things. “Good night, Frank.”

“Good night, Red.”

It’s not lost on Frank that he let’s the moniker slide this time.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you thinking?” 
> 
> Frank's hand drifts to Matt's cheek, cupping it gently as if they hadn't nearly ripped each other's throats out just hours earlier. His face is so close now that Matt can smell the lingering scent of Frank’s leftover aftershave from a day earlier. A wide, rough thumb sweeps across the plump mound of Matt's bottom lip, and it sends a shock straight through him. “Red, I'm… I’m jus’ thinkin’ how much I want to kiss you.”

The Russian stops screaming just before dawn. Ranskahov had lasted longer with Stick and his cohorts than Elektra had expected he would, but either way, she hadn't been convinced that he would be worth the effort. Instead of carving information out of the skin of one of Fisk's pawns, she had spent the night combing over financial reports she'd managed to steal from the Roxxon corporation the day before. While the Russians were certainly used to find and procure possible Omega candidates, they certainly didn't have the resources to do any of the testing or procedures necessary. That was all far out of the scope of one “tiny” band of second rate mobsters.

“Having fun playing on that thing?” Stick sneers as he wipes his hands clean on a towel. Behind him, a pair of Chaste peons carry out the lifeless corpse of Anatoly Ranskahov.

“I certainly haven't found anything openly labeled 'Omega Testing Facility,' if that's what you’re asking,” she replies coolly. “And you?”

The blind man snorts and pulls a bottle of beer from the mini-fridge in the corner. “He knew where the shipments were to be left for pick up, but not who was coming for the Omegas or where they were being sent. He did give me the locations of four black market sales going on this week for the ones that turned out unsuitable.”

“And you're holding up your end of the bargain?” she asks, fighting the urge to grind her teeth. If left to his own devices, Stick would gladly leave the Omegas behind. Elektra isn't known for her caring nature, but even she cringes at the thought of what will happen to them if they are sold off. Many of their fates would be far worse than even the inside of a lab.

“Aww, Ellie, it hurts that you don't trust me anymore,” he drawls, toying with her.

She rolls her eyes and taps at the keyboard impatiently. “Answer the question, Stick.”

“I'll have our men take care of it,” he confirms. Stick pulls out a chair and sits beside her at the table. “You should have called me sooner on this.”

Now it's Elektra's turn to let out a snort. They both knew why she hadn't. Despite a name that implies purity and a higher nature, the Chaste are hardly above twisting nature as a means to their ends. Elektra hadn't even been thirteen when she found that out. In her nightmares she still relives what it had been like in that stone vault and the horrors of what had happened there. They had stolen a very important part of her in the name of making her a more efficient weapon. Only knowing what could happen if the Hand and other nefarious organizations could do if they were to have the ability to mass produce 'creatures' like her had led her to contact Stick at all.

“I'm attending a party the Roxxon executives are throwing tonight,” she says, closing the laptop before her. “I'm hoping to find whatever hard copy ledgers they may have. There has to be some sort of record of all this. This many people and this much money doesn’t just come and go without some kind of records.”

Stick gives a slow nod, clearly biting his tongue. Even he knows not to push her too far. He better than anyone—even Matthew—knows exactly what she is capable of.

She feels the weight of the Chaste's stares on her as she walks out of their safe house. They are all afraid of her, and that fear is warranted. The only person she hates more than Stick for that is herself.

On the drive back to her penthouse, Elektra does her best to bury the rage that had slowly been building inside of her since she'd called Stick two days earlier. She'd lied to herself over and over again that the old man didn't have any power over her, but that had all come crashing down the first time he'd called her 'Ellie' again. Stick had been the only person to ever call her that, the only one to treat her with any real affection. As an orphaned child raised by the Chaste, she'd latched on to those tiny shreds of caring with fierce abandon. She'd done everything and anything she could to win his praise, and the more ruthless and skilled she'd become as a fighter, the more Stick had reeled her in. Her devotion had even led her to forgiving him for handing her off to the Natchios' at nine while he went to train another. When he came back, she followed right along as he led her to the very thing that would seal her fate forever. She'd been so overjoyed that he'd returned at all that she didn't even question things until it was too late.

She showers—washing herself three times and scrubbing her hands until her nail beds are raw—when she gets home. Even then, Elektra can swear she can still smell steel, blood, and incense on her skin. The blood and steel she doesn't particularly mind, but that putrid smelling incense the Chaste favors disgusts her. She applies a heavy spray of her favorite perfume to her wrists before slipping into her favorite silk robe. It's the kind purchased from a department store, bought for her as a Christmas gift a few years earlier by Matthew. The thought of his nervous half-grin as he gave it to her does more to 'wash' away the crawling feeling on her skin than the shower could and somehow even seemed to make the stench on her skin dissipate. He is the one and only truly good person she knows.

Elektra met Matthew two years after leaving the Chaste for good. It had cost a fortune to find him. Stick only let tidbits drop about the “weak” boy here and there—always as a way to remind her that he would abandon her again if she didn't meet his standards. Before she even met him, Elektra had hated Matthew with a fierce passion. At first, it was because he had taken Stick from her. Later, it was because he hadn't hurt the way she had. She wasn't truly sure if it was her resentment for him or the danger he could possibly hold that made her decide to kill him. Thankfully, Elektra was curious enough by nature to want to meet him before ending his life.

She tracked him and his friend, Foggy to a faculty party off campus. A form fitting red dress and a smile was all it had taken her to get invited inside while the boys had to come in through the service entrance. She can still remember the first time she'd laid eyes on him. He'd been too thin and needed a haircut, but even in a second-hand suit and worn wingtips older than he was, he had the appeal of innocence and naivety wrapped up in a pretty, albeit shabby, package. Elektra had thought it all was an act—the blindness, the squeaky clean image, the optimism that even anger couldn't wipe away... all of it. But she soon realized that Matthew was all of those things and more.

In the time it took to have three drinks and “borrow” a sports car, she began to understand exactly what it was about Matthew that Stick called weak and also the thing that made him so very special. Matthew loved those he trusted with reckless abandon. He didn't have it in him to fight for himself, only for those he protected. Elektra had never met anyone she cared about enough to protect until that night. And she vowed that she would protect him from anyone and everything—even himself.

Right now, she knows it is going to take everything she has to save Matthew from the mess they are in. She is prepared to pay any price.

* * * * * *

Matt wakes the instant it starts. He can feel his insides shifting to open him up and ready him for an Alpha's knot. The sensation is unpleasant and even a bit painful, but he has been through enough heats to expect these things. It's the terror that's new. Never in his life has he been so close to an Alpha when his heat started. During his first heats, he'd been sequestered in a barren room with only a prayer kneeler and a bed with no sheets or blankets. The rooms were purposefully kept frigidly cold—to both keep the Omegas from becoming too feverish and to dampen their lust. The nuns and priest that ran the orphanage encouraged the Omegas to resist the urge to touch themselves and keep themselves completely chaste for their God-intended Alpha. Those heats had been absolutely miserable, but at the moment, he would give anything to be safely locked away in one of those harsh rooms. At least there, he had some modicum of control. Chained to Frank, Matt is keenly aware just how helpless and vulnerable he is. Despite using every calming technique Elektra and Stick ever taught him, he can't stop himself from sliding as far as he could away from the sleeping giant.

Frank's heart rate and breathing changes the second Matt starts moving. He sniffs the air tentatively. “Shh, shhhh, Red,” he soothes gently. The reassuring scent of Alpha washes over Matt and—despite his will—he lets Frank wrap his arms around him, guiding Matt's nose into the crook of his neck. “I swear I will keep you safe.”

Even in his pheromone-drunk state, Matt sees an out. “If you mean that, you'll leave me alone.”  
For one glorious moment, Matt thinks he's won the argument. Frank undoes the cuffs and runs his fingers lightly over the welt they left behind. But then he wraps Matt back up in his arms, looping the softest of the blankets over them.

“I can't leave you alone, not now—even if I wanted to,” Frank says. His voice is rough yet somehow still smooth, like gravel wrapped in a silk bag. It washes over Matt's entire being and makes his skin tingle right down to his toes. He's not in full heat, but Frank's voice is still enough to make his cock twitch.

“Please, I can't let you...” Matt's voice falters with desperation. “I can't...”

Frank pulls Matt over to face him. If Matt could see, he would be looking right into Frank's eyes. “You are in charge here, Red. I can't leave you, but I swear that I will only do what you ask. If you don't want me to so much as lay a hand on you once your heat starts, I will walk my ass to the door and stand guard until your slick dries. This is your choice all the way.”

“Like I'll have a choice once I'm in full heat. You'll wait until my heat is in full swing and my head is swimming then say that I gave consent,” Matt scoffs.

“That's not how I work, and I think you know that,” Frank presses Matt's hand to his chest. “I swear to you, Matt, whatever rules you set now, I will follow. If that means you beg me and I still do nothing, so be it. I would never do anything that you aren't one hundred percent behind.”

Frank's heartbeat doesn't waiver so much as a millisecond, but Matt still can't truly believe it. Every thought inside his head is screaming that this has to be some kind trick his hormones are playing. God, does Matt want to believe it though! He wants to believe that there is something aligned in the stars that he'd have a strong, sexy, honest Alpha—his Alpha—dropped in his lap like this, but the stars have never been on Matt's side.

“What if my heat sends you into rut?” Matt asks.

For the first time, Frank's heart rate spikes. “That won't happen. I have a…I'm on suppressants.”

“Not even the black market has medications strong enough to completely hold back a rut or full heat.” He doesn’t even bother to bring up that there are no Alpha suppressants even on the white market.

“Yeah, well, the black market is cooked up in some shit head's garage, not exactly federal agency issued,” Frank sounds more rueful about it than Matt had thought possible. “Can't even pop a knot if I wanted to.”

Matt bites his lip. “Would you want to? Or is this all business?”

“Fuck! This should just be another job, but I think you know it's not. You've had me upside down from the second I met you. Everything about you from the devil in that redhead of yours to that ten mile wide chip on your shoulder. You do somethin' to me that no one ever has before. You've gotta believe me.”

“I do,” Matt whispers.

Frank doesn't respond right away. Somehow Matt finds it within himself to wait it out. Within the pause, the air is thick and palpable, filled with a nervous tension unlike anything Matt has ever experienced. It doesn’t feel the same as when he was being sized up like a side of beef and found Matt lacking as an Omega specimen. There is a wonderment in it that Matt doesn’t quite understand fully. He lets out the small breath, and when he can stand it no longer he murmurs carefully, “What are you thinking?” 

Frank's hand drifts to Matt's cheek, cupping it gently as if they hadn't nearly ripped each other's throats out just hours earlier. His face is so close now that Matt can smell the lingering scent of Frank’s leftover aftershave from a day earlier. A wide, rough thumb sweeps across the plump mound of Matt's bottom lip, and it sends a shock straight through him. “Red, I'm… I’m jus’ thinkin’ how much I want to kiss you.” Frank’s voice is so sweetly shy that it almost doesn’t seem possible to be coming from the man who barked orders at him hours ago. Matt gasps a little as Frank angles in, but he doesn't pull away. “B-but, I won't if..” 

Matt closes the distance as the last of his resolve crumbles at the show of vulnerability from a man whom he could have sworn was made of stone. His lips barely touch Frank’s. By most standards, Matt knows it’s not much of a kiss--more of a peck than anything. He pulls back a bit as his senses regain control, staying easily within range of the stunned Agent. The blood that's rushing to his face has nothing to do with his heat. When Frank doesn’t immediately return the kiss, Matt sits back on his heels a bit farther. “S-sorry,” he sniffs.

If Frank's heart sounded like a drum earlier, it is now a jackhammer, pounding against his rib cage and drowning out the sound of Matt's own. When he touches Matt’s face again, he instinctively closes his eyes and surrenders to whatever comes next, consequences be damned. He trusts this man. 

Frank's kiss is masterful and rough with passion as he stakes his claim, a soft animalistic growl rumbling up from deep within. A second hand reaches up to tug at the back of Matt's hair and he lets out a little moan as his head rolls back obediently, opening his mouth and allowing his Alpha to deepen the kiss. 

“Red,” Frank rasps. “Fuck…” He says something else after that, words of praise crushed between their deepening tastes that dissolves into expletives as he pushes Matt to the bed. 

Being under him is too dangerous. Matt has fought his entire life to never let himself be in pinned down--metaphorically or literally--but this feels so right that even the voices in his head can’t silence his instinctual need to be right here. Frank is solid and heavy even as he braces himself against the headboard. The weight of him is just perfect against Matt’s much smaller frame.

Beneath his service-issued button-up, dog tags rattle. It's only then that Matt realizes he's not wearing much. Unlike Frank, who hadn't bothered dressing for bed, Matt wears a thin, loose t-shirt. Frank rucks it up with a single sweep of his hand and he pries Matt's lips apart with a roving, hungry tongue. His bottoms, no doubt, are already thoroughly saturated with the beginnings of his heat. 

“Fuck, baby, you're burning up,” Frank breathes into the ellipse of Matt's ear. “You’ll need to make up your mind, and quick.” 

Matt's eyes flutter open as the remnants of his sensibilities come flying back at him. Panic floods him.”It’s too fast,” he whimpers. 

Frank presses a kiss to Matt’s forehead. “I know, Red, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Maybe if…” Matt’s mind is racing towards a vain hope that maybe Frank didn’t flush ALL the suppressants.

“No ‘maybe’s.’ This is happening,” Frank affirms.

Matt collapses on the bed, miserable with sweat and tears, all strength gone out of him. “I don’t know if I’m ready for you to have sex with me. What if you do and then you realize I really am broken.” 

Frank pulls away with a sigh that sounds more like a groan. He sweeps a damp tendril of hair away from Matt's face to tuck it behind his ear. “That’s not how I see you.”

“Hah. Right.” Matt turns away, clutching the pillow beneath him.

“Well, I guess I will have to take my time showing you just how I see you, Red, but I don’t think you’re really ready for that,” Frank says, swallowing deeply. “But I have an idea...and I think I can help you through this. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I don't need your--” Matt clutches his stomach suddenly and bites off the rest of the rebuff he’d been about to serve up. Letting out a long moan as a wave of need hits him, he realizes that even if his mind is willing to fight Frank, his body isn’t going to let him. Keeping his anger firmly in place with the reminder that this--every last bit of it--is Frank's fault, he grinds out through clenched teeth “….fine. J-just know that if at any time I don't like it, I can still kick your ass.”

Frank lifts both hands in mock-surrender. “Of course.”

* * * * *

Luke is the first to sense it. When an Omega enters estrus, there is a sudden swell of energy, like the crackle from a bolt of lightning just before it strikes the ground. Their blood vessels dilate and their temperature rises, allowing for their natural scent to become stronger, signaling to every alpha within miles that they are in Heat. He exits the computer room quickly, tossing a glance at Micro and ordering him to stay put. 

Beta's can rarely sense the mating seasons of Alphas and Omegas and almost never smell the pheromones, something that seems an impossibility to Luke. Even his happily-mated self is bombarded by the intoxicating scent, and that's a problem. It's going to set every other Alpha on edge. 

“Fuck, you smell that?” Rumlow has made his way from outside, lewdly sniffing the air and palming his tac-vest. “Sweet Christ on a cracker, that kid smells even better when he's in heat. That's my fuckin’ cue.” 

“The fuck it is,” Luke spits. “Now get back to your damn post before I chain you to it.” 

The short alpha lets out a groan, reluctantly doing as he's told and turning about-face. “This is bullshit, Cage, and you know it. You wouldn't get it, cuz you get your fill of boy-pussy every time you're home. The only other fuckable cunt in a thirty mile radius, and the Boss just has to lay claim to it.”

Luke is careful not to breathe in too fast--as much as he wants to lay Rumlow out flat for such demeaning comments about his mate, he knows the atmosphere is partly to blame. Until the Heat is over, managing the team is going to be tricky work. Less trained units would have already fallen to shit by now. Chairwoman Tarrel either wasn't thinking or didn't give a shit to sabotage her own Mission like this. 

“What does he mean?” Another voice comes from around the corner. Luke turns to see Foggy, coffee cup in hand, tossing a concerned glance between him and his subordinate. 

Before Luke can answer, Rumlow is striding towards the long-haired blond, licking his lips in a leisurely fashion. “It means, little piggy, that your partner is up there stewing in his own fluids and begging for Mr. Tall Dark and Cranky to cork-screw 'im right to the bed. Now that means me an’ my partner Jack are getting free whiffs of the goods without getting a piece of the pie.” Rumlow slams a hand on the side of the wall, Foggy flattened against it. He drags a gloved hand over his tweed vest. “That is, unless you're offering?” 

“Brock!” Luke squares his shoulders and stands up to his full height. He’s always been reluctant to posture the way a lot of Alpha’s do, preferring to use his brains, but Rumlow isn’t giving him much choice. If it’s a fight Rumlow wants, Luke is going to make sure the punk knows exactly what he’s getting into. 

For a second, the smaller Alpha seems to be weighing his options. In that second, Luke makes his move and tears Rumlow away, spinning him back towards the doorway. “OUT,” he spits. “NOW.”

“Agent Cage, what is he talking about? What the hell is happening?” Foggy asks, shrugging his top back into place. 

For a moment, Luke had forgotten that the lawyer wasn’t born with the scent receptors of the other two sexes. It just doesn't seem possible that the thick, hungry smell that forces its way into his nose goes entirely unnoticed by Betas. Luke holds his hands out carefully, like cautioning a pedestrian who's about to cross a particularly dangerous side of the street. “Your friend upstairs,” he explains, “It’d seem he's entering heat. Now, there is no need to be concerned--” 

“You know the only time I ever hear that statement, agent?”, the lawyer barks, his voice getting higher. “Is when I should start getting really concerned.” 

Luke blocks the path to the stairs with his gargantuan height, glaring stonily down at the fiery-eyed attorney. He slowly shakes his head. “Go sit down.”

“Move aside,” Foggy commands. Despite having seen Luke go toe-to-toe with an Alpha with a heck of a lot more training and strength, the Beta shows the kind of guts that Rumlow lacks.

“We all have our orders,” Luke murmurs. “And I answer to Agent Castle. And since we have been sworn to protect you and your redheaded friend up there, you answer to me. So go. Sit. DOWN.” 

Foggy opens his mouth, finger aimed at Luke's chest. “Now you listen here, you--!” 

“Daaaaaum,” another alpha voice drawls. Rollins appears from the opposite hallway, looking delirious from a newly ended nap and smacking his lips. “Something smells...really good….and it ain't food.” 

Luke lets out a disgusted groan. “Oh Jesus Christ.” 

It's going to be one long-ass night. 

* * * * * 

Matt is burning up. It's been since his early twenties since he’s been in full heat, and this one is just so much more powerful than anything he's ever experienced. He lays on his back, squeezing his eyes shut and trying hard not to think of how ridiculous he must look right now. 

Still, it's comforting to be in Frank’s arms whether or not he wants to admit it. Frank’s scent is coming on so strong it's masking Matt’s own. His thick, callused fingers trace down Matt’s quaking stomach and disappear beneath the thin sheet. He whimpers as the touch becomes more and more intimate, slowly reaching places that Matt’s never let anybody explore, let alone an Alpha. His breath catches in his throat as the wide hand falls between his thighs, spreading them apart gently and whispering over his budding erection. A small, insecure whimper escapes.

“Shhh,” Frank cooes. “You're doing great, sweet heart. God, look at you, all opened up for me.”

Matt turns his head away, burying his face in the crook of Frank’s arm as the touch drifts further. When the digits seek their way through the crevice of his ass, finally landing on the tight ring of muscle there, Matt gasps sharply, stiffening up at the intrusion. 

“SHHHH…. sshhhh,” Frank murmurs, his breath warm in Matt’s ears, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not gonna hurt, sweetheart. Your body has prepared itself for this kinda’ thing.” 

Great, Matt thinks, as if that's supposed to make him feel better. He can plainly feel Frank’s hand getting completely saturated as he explores between Matt's cheeks, his fingers sliding around in the slipperiness of his own self-lubricant. 

“I need you to be quiet, baby. Do you think you can be quiet for me?”

God, Matt did not need to be reminded that thanks to the smell he's putting off it's probably open season for the assholes downstairs. They're probably licking their lips and listening intently for the mewls of an Omega in heat. His thoughts drift to the thought of Tweedle Dumb-Fuck shamelessly rubbing himself and he shivers. 

As if reading his thoughts, Frank instructs, “It's okay, sweet thing. I'm here, ain't nobody gonna hurt you.”

Matt wonders how many times Frank has done something like this, helping and Omega through their heat. The darker thoughts in his mind make him nearly shrink back, but Frank is murmuring all kinds of endearments. Telling Matt just how much he wants him, how sexy and sweet he is, the kinds of things he wants to do to him. He wonders if that's part of the “job”, if any other Omegas have heard those words from the towering Apex, and it makes Matt burn with a jealousy that even surprises himself. 

He is distracted from his thoughts by something poking into his side. The man must be gigantic. The entire length of it fits somewhere between the bottom of Matt’s shoulder blade and the middle of his back. Something from somewhere deep within him wriggles in for a closer touch, begging for the release that it knows only a massive, throbbing Alpha cock can sate. The thought alone makes Matt want to throw up--how could he allow himself to be so pathetic? 

His stream of consciousness is suddenly wracked by the sensation of two large digits pressing into his hole. He holds on for dear life, the scent from the Apex Alpha willing him into compliance and madness simultaneously. His nails must be digging a trench in Frank's shoulder blade but he lacks the self-awareness or the focus to care. “P-please,” he chokes out. 

Frank hesitates. “You're sure?” he hums, his heavy breathing barely masking a deep, possessive growl. “Are you ready for me?”

It's Matt's turn to growl. He impatiently punches Frank's arm, releasing a starved whimper.

Frank chuckles softly and begins to move. 

The deepest part of him clenches tight around the probing fingers as a fresh stream of slick spurts out. Matt must be soaking himself and the bed and Frank's hand but none of that matters for the sweet pressure and slight, pleasureful sting of the intrusion. His head rocks back to the bed, muscles firing as he arches into the touch, spreading his legs for more. 

“Patience, Red,” Frank groans, as if he himself is on edge. “God, what you do to me. You look so fucking good. How does it feel, baby?”

Matt buries his face into the wide expanse of Frank's chest, comforted only by the bass-drum beating of Frank's heart. And then suddenly, something is inside of him, forcing its way into the tightness. Frank's fingers spread, widening his entrance, pulling his tender hole open to angle upward and further in. 

Matt is being filled. He's wanted this for so long. Wanted and never knew what he was looking for until this very moment. Frank begins a rhythm without warning, pulling the digits out and back in with a filthy squish.

“OH!” Matt bites his lip to keep from screaming. He's got to be quiet, as he promised. Quiet and good for his… “F-Frank! Oh my God!” 

“Shhhhhhh”, Frank breathes into his ear, bundling him up close to him into the blanket, concealing his naked form against the breeze of the open window. “I know. Hush, baby. I know. I feel it too.”

The heat builds, Matt’s face flushing as he pants along to the pounding of Frank’s heart. Frank follows, building a rhythm and rubbing Matt’s poor, virgin pussy raw with his hand, invading his walls even as they clench down around him. 

He blushes, knowing that he is already getting close and that there is nothing he can do to stop it. He's not certain he'd have the strength to, even if he wanted to. Not now, with the scent of his Alpha thick in his nostrils, his strong legs wrapped around his tree-trunk of an arm as he mercilessly buries his knuckles into him. 

His brain backs up to what he just thought. His alpha. 

Something inside of him releases, his womb opening like a flower as he thoroughly wets everything beneath him, hole fluttering as he comes. Every attempt he'd made to keep quiet hasn’t probably done any good, because now his mouth hangs stupidly open as he rides the shockwaves, letting out a wail that'd reach the heavens. 

Frank isn't letting up. As Matt’s poor, abused hole collapses Frank flips him completely onto his back, onto the soaked bed, flattening himself on top. Matt is unable to breathe, unable to move. He rocks his hips pathetically against the tree-trunk that is Frank's leg in an attempt to either wiggle closer or wiggle free, but it's useless. Matt convulses a final time, throwing his head back to the damp pillow, his hair matted and sticking to his cheeks in wet tendrils. “Yeah, baby. Fuck yes. Such a good boy, Red. My sweetheart. Just look at you.” Frank's praises don't register as much more than static in Matt’s heat-muddled ears. 

Matt pushes back weakly, but just when the pain and pressure has rubbed him nearly raw and it becomes too much to take, it isn't enough. His body accepts Frank in, unequivocally, as Frank's nostrils flare and he buries yet another finger into Matt's heat. 

Frank presses his forehead to Matt's as Matt whimpers, feeling the desire build inside of him once again. He feels disgusted with himself. How could he allow himself to play fast and loose with a man he barely knows? As horrible as it should feel knowing this, it almost doesn't seem to matter. For just once in his life, Matt wonders what it would be like to give in, to do what comes naturally. With Frank, the urge surpasses basic instinct or desire…it’s right. 

“Frank…”

“Call me by my name,” Frank groans, hungrily stealing a kiss. 

Matt’s tired eyes flutter. “B-but I just did.”

“Not that name,” Frank corrects, making his point with a gentle stab upward. 

Matt feels as if he's being split in two. 

“My real name, the name an Omega calls his mate when he claims him.”

Matt drapes and arm around Frank’s neck, his sightless eyes searching his face as he pathetically straddles Frank's arm and the rough, callused digits move in and out. “Are ...are you going to claim me?”

Frank's hand stops momentarily and Matt can feel his gaze locked onto his own. “Would you like that?”

“YES,” Matt blurts. He doesn't even have time to react before the word falls out of his mouth. But somehow, even in the heat of the moment, despite the methods and circumstances surrounding them, it doesn't feel wrong and Matt is surprised when he doesn't even feel the slightest inkling to take it back. “Yes,” he tries again, his voice gaining confidence. 

“Say it,” Frank growls suddenly. His hand begins moving again, first out, leaving Matt’s spent orifice aching, his womb unfulfilled and empty. 

“Mmmmng---” Matt slams his head back down again, gasping and shamelessly grinding his hips down as the digits probe again. “You bastard,” he snaps.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I DO!”

“Tell me you need me.”

“Agggh...F-Frank!” 

“Tell me.” 

“Goddamn it, yes! You know I do!”

Frank captures his pouty bottom lip, worrying it experimentally as Matt sobs. His kisses trail around the ellipse of his earlobe and down the soft, supple curve of Matt’s neck and feeding his fingers slowly, painstakingly, back into the heat of his center. 

“Frank, you ass! Claim me! Please!”

“SAY it,” Frank presses, jabbing his fingers out and in, building a rhythm too fast for Matt to match and hovering his mouth over Matt’s pulse point. 

Matt has never been so sure of something in his entire life. This isn't something he ever thought that he would want, but now, right here, having Frank over him and around him and inside of him--now Matt knows. “Yes,” he chokes out as he flies out over the edge of ecstasy. “Alpha--Claim me!” 

The universe comes undone and back together in the time it takes for Frank's teeth to sink into his soft flesh. The pain is fleeting, leaving only stars in Matt’s senses as his hard, bobbing dick sputters and his body goes rigid beneath the towering Alpha. Slick leaks from his spent little hole and Frank removes his fingers to gather the shivering Omega in his arms as he rides out the aftershocks. 

When he notices the shredded rags he's made of Frank's shirt, he is too exhausted to feel guilty. Matt’s thundering heartbeat slows and he begins to drift off into sleep, he could swear he hears Frank say Love you, Red. He closes his eyes slowly, sleep getting the better of him at last. 

Matt hasn't been through the worst of it yet. He awakens two more times, panting and driven literally out of his mind by the hunger. It ends the same each time--with Frank hammering his fingers into him as Matt practically sobs into his neck, frustrated and pissed and shamelessly begging for the Alpha’s touch. 

When he’s lost more fluids than he even thought he had, he slumps back into Frank’s powerful arms and breathes in his calming scent. If Frank is at all adverse to his role, he sure as hell doesn’t show it. His new mate growls happily, nuzzling the fresh wound on Matt’s neck and lavishing his ear with kisses. 

“I just don't get it,” Matt half-whimpers, half-moans, “Why don't you just fuck me already?” 

Despite Matt’s blindness or maybe because of it, he can practically feel Frank wincing. He lets out a tattered sigh before muttering, “Because... We talked about this, Red. You chose before full heat, and I respect that.”

“Bullshit,” Matt snaps. “I may not be at my sharpest, but I know there’s more to it. Were you lying when you said you didn’t see me as damaged goods? Was all that about claiming me part of it show?”

His attempt to rouse the Alpha's anger fails. Frank's voice remains even, gentle, and candid. “Red, I couldn’t fuck you even if I wanted to.” 

Matt snorts, taking it as some kind of lame joke before the silence proves otherwise. He chews on his inner lip, shifting into Frank until his back is flush with his chest before pressing the matter. “What do you mean?” 

Frank huffs. “You really want to know?” 

With one ear pressed against Frank’s battle-hardened bicep, he nods. 

“I’ll have to show you.” 

Matt holds his breath as Frank’s hand gathers Matt’s and slips it beneath the covers and over their sweat-soaked skin. It brushes down Frank’s abdomen like a waterfall over chiseled rock, dipping into the crevasse of his thigh and the taut, warm muscle beneath a fine peppering of hair. Frank groans as he dips Matt’s fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants where the hair grows thicker and the wetness is even more intense. Matt bites his lip as the thirst returns with a vengeance. What in any other circumstance would be a nerve-wracking affair is just more cause for his heat-addled, baby-making brain to amp up the need. Desire stirs in his belly, his empty womb practically screaming at him to Present to his Alpha. To turn over and show off his puffy hole to be claimed and thoroughly bred. 

He wasn't wrong about Frank’s size. The massive mound of swollen flesh hardens beneath the sheets, twitching into his palm as Matt’s fingernails graze the tip. 

Frank throws his head forward, a growl thundering from somewhere deep within him as he balls the blanket beneath Matt’s head into a fist. He is now the one panting, his mouth taped open, breath hot against the base of Matt’s neck. “Jesus--mmmng….fuck.” 

Frank’s hand releases suddenly and Matt sets out on his own, dragging an experimental line down Frank’s entire hardening length. Matt flushes. There's no way his calculations are this off. He swallows hard and changes course, fluttering back up to palm the head of his massive cock. From end-to-hilt, Frank is a staggering fourteen inches. “Oh my god,” he breathes, and Frank’s precum practically spills onto his hand. 

Frank rides out a violent spasm, the kisses on Matt’s neck becoming bites. “Easy….easy,” Frank begs, and Matt's not sure if he’s trying to convince his newly claimed Omega or himself. 

“Sorry,” Matt murmurs, forgetting for a moment that he's actually been set a task, even though he's not sure quite what he's looking for. 

“Lower,” Frank instructs. Matt obeys, delving his hand down the impossibly stiff cock as Frank drags out a long hiss. 

“I don't get it,” Matt murmurs mostly to himself. Just what is he supposed to be looking for? As far as Matt can tell, Frank is a normal--albeit enormous--adult Alpha. He scales down the slick, veiny, shaft and is just about to accuse Frank of playing some kind of practical joke on him when his fingers find something unnatural.

Matt withdraws his hand with a soft gasp. “Wh--what is that?” 

“Its okay,” Frank offers. Hesitantly, the Omega relaxes his fingers, exploring the smooth metal ellipse at the base of his shaft. “It’s called a Suppression Ring.” 

Matt furls his eyebrows. “What does it do?” 

“Mmmm, think of it as Alpha birth control. It’s a Government-issued device that’s kinetically locked and prevents the user from being able to…. Well, it prevents me from knotting you, basically.”

“But, I mean, you can still obviously,”Matt blushes, ”get ‘hard’.”

“Yeah.” 

Frank's groan deepens as Matt explores the steel-clad intruder. “But doesn't it hurt ?”

“Yes.” 

“And what about when you, you know, ‘finish’?” 

“I...can’t.” 

Matt’s hand shoots up out of the covers. “That's horrible! Why would someone do something like that to themselves!?” 

“It’s not like it was a choice Red. And keep your voice down.” 

Matt mumbles a half-apology as he borrows back down, absentmindedly nuzzling into the crook of Frank’s arm like a child listening to a bedtime story. 

Frank takes the hint. “It's protocol,” he explains. “It’s part of the job. As a Senior Agent, It's my responsibility to ensure the safety and security of my Assets at all cost. For the Omega, that sometimes means… helping them through their estrus. Since my duty is to guide them through their heat cycle as quickly and efficiently as possible, my Agency installed the Suppression Ring to see to it that I could utilize my...Alpha status...without sacrificing the mission.”

Matt huffs bitterly. “In other words, you fuck them without the worry of getting stuck to them for life...no pun intended.”

“You could say that.”

“Wow, must be a real hardship there, Officer,” Matt snorts softly. 

“Actually, it kind of is. I've sacrificed the possibility of ever having my own mate for the good of the country. It's been too risky to get attached so the Agency insured that it could not happen, while in the meantime utilizing my abilities as Apex to speed up the process and satisfy the Omega so we can finish the mission as seamlessly as possible.” 

The silence lingers as Matt chews on this thought. The possibility of years of Frank bedding god-knows-how-many Omegas during their heat cycles makes what they just finished doing (for the third time, no less) a hell of a lot less special. “I still don't get it,” Matt blurts finally. “You say you help omegas through their heat even though you yourself can’t experience pleasure out of it, yet I've been begging you to fuck me for the past seven hours and you refuse me? It makes no sense.” 

“It makes perfect sense, sweetheart.” Suddenly Frank captures Matt’s face, forcing him to turn in his arms as he presses a deep, lingering kiss to his lips. His tongue flickers out, chasing the taste and Matt moans. “I want to claim you, Matt Murdock. For now and for always. I couldn't bring myself to treat you like some...some “job” like that. You are far from the rest. When I bed you, baby, I want it to be with my whole body and not just my dick. I want to lay you down and spread you out like a freaking buffet table. I want to drill my cock so far into your tight pussy your very insides will bear my mark.” Frank chuckles as Matt writhes. “And I want you to shout it to the rooftops before I do that it’s what you want too.” 

Matt can't help but let out a chuckle at the visual, but Frank quickly grabs his attention by biting down on the mating mark on his neck, drawing a long, thirsty moan from the red-headed Omega. 

“I mean it, sweetheart. I want to breed you. But when I do, it’s going to be because you want it, and not just some nature-bound drive to fuck.”

A punch of sadness breaks through the yearning, Matt’s eyes welling suddenly with frustrated tears. “That's not fair. You’d give yourself to countless nameless omegas going through their regular monthly estrus, but not to the one who’s bound eternally to you and who desperately needs it? How do you know what I want, Agent Castle? What makes you such an expert?” 

“You don't understand your own anatomy,” Frank mutters against his bare shoulder, dragging his chin scruff across baby-soft skin. Matt shivers “You’d absolutely burn up. You and I are mated, now, and only my knot can satisfy you. I can’t give that to you, even if we...even though we both want it.” 

Matt is furious. He wants so badly to light into the oversized Alpha, to shove him away and bare his teeth and scream at him for so thoroughly screwing everything up. None if this would have happened if he’d let Matt keep the pills. What fucking business is it of his, anyway, whether or not the suppressants harm him!? This is still Matt’s body! It’s still Matt’s life! 

For all the rage boiling inside him, he cannot bring himself to hate the man. He settles for jamming a pillow between them, awkwardly turning back on his side and determined to give Frank the silent treatment for as long as it takes for the fire inside him to burn itself out. 

After a long pause, he feels the bed creak beneath Frank’s weight as he rolls away, coming to sit with his back to Matt and raking his fingers through the thick curls atop his head. The silence between them is filled with the sound of shuffling fabric and the clinking of belts and straps as Frank pulls his uniform on over his sweat-soaked skin. Matt sneers quietly, consoling himself with the thought that Frank probably looks like shit, too. 

“Where are you going?,” He murmurs finally. 

“I told you, m'not goin’ anywhere, Red” Frank says, adding with a sigh, “But that doesn't mean I can stop doing my job, unfortunately. Part of keeping you safe is checking in with my team.” 

Matt shivers at the thought of one of the other Alphas walking in and seeing him, barely clothed and covered in slick and sweat. He buries his face further into the pillow, hugging it tight. “I can't...don't let them see me like this.”

The Apex Alpha lets out a chuckle, reaching over the bed to run a hand down the length of Matt's spine. He practically quakes at the sensation. “As if I'd let them get within a hundred yards from you.” 

Matt doesn't bother informing him that there are no less than three other Alphas directly within those parameters. He can hear every footstep and pick up each individual scent signature as if they were right here in the exact same room, and it's unnerving. Matt won't dare repeat the horrific things Rumlow is murmuring to himself or the awful groaning noises the tall one (‘Rollins’, is it?) makes. The thought alone makes his stomach churn. That churning quickly becomes a big ball of nerves that flips over and over in his stomach, and Matt would easily be throwing up if he'd had anything to eat. 

“It's morning,” Frank says, as if that's supposed to mean something. 

Matt is sort of surprised at the news: he's had far too many other things on his plate to worry about than the location of the sun in the sky. 

“You made it through the night, sweetheart,” the Alpha explains. 

Matt whimpers when he considers the unnumbered miserable nights to come. “If you have any mercy,” he says, only half-jokingly “You'll kill me now.” 

Frank scoffs dismissively, and an uneasy silence falls between them. 

After Frank gets off the radio with Luke, Matt talks him into letting him shower. He runs the water as cold as he can possibly stand it and tries not to think about the large man waiting just outside. They both know he's in no shape to run, not that he wants to. Matt considers what a waste it was to escape in the first place, all for some pills that would just get thrown down the drain. His mind drifts back to Elektra's parting advice as his legs begin to shake from holding himself up. 

“Don't invite danger into your bed.” 

He clutches his head, flattening back against the shower wall, out of the spray and the wetness and the cold. He hadn't even realized until just this moment that his brain feels like it's splitting in two. He hears Frank ask if he's okay. He opens his mouth, but there's no air left in his lungs to respond. The sickly fluttering sensation has returned with a vengeance, sending his stomach into doing cartwheels. 

They were right all along--Stick. Elektra. Frank. All of them. He's not fit for anything. He cannot continue his casework like this and he cannot keep fighting his own nature. He is weak and pathetic and helpless to stop his own goddamn body from betraying him. 

The pounding in his head becomes a freight train barrelling towards him that slams into him and tears his consciousness apart. As he hits the shower floor, he can hear the glass door being torn open. 

Once again he has to be saved from himself. Once again he is proven unfit. It's not enough. He is not enough. 

Somewhere in the distance, someone is shouting his name. Holding him up, shaking him. 

He reaches for the sound, but it's too far off, like the call of a falcon through the fog. 

He can’t fight anymore. Not like this. He closes his eyes, surrendering to the numbness that washes over him, getting swiftly swallowed up into the void. 

 

* * * * * *

 

Extra

 

He carefully fastens his cufflinks to the tune of Chopin’s Spring Waltz. A bright, airy melody with a impish lilt, it is a much happier arrangement than his usual dressing music. It is fitting, today. For Fisk, the more trying the predicament the more he finds himself drawn to the brightness. It reminds him that there is a complexity to the lighter things as there is in darkness, and that there is still much to be accomplished. 

A light knocking averts his thoughts. He lets go of a deep breath and produces a green silk tie from the drawer as he turns to face the slowly opening door. “Come.” 

“Sir”, Wesley announces, “The uh...Shield Agent is here to see you.” 

Fisk nods. He strides out as he fastens the tie, into the immaculately lit living area of his fresh new abode. He has had to move several times in just the past year, making each new dwelling more secretive than the last. He loathes it. It makes him appear weak to the other heavy-hitters, which makes everything more difficult. Standing in the center of room, directly beneath the Baccarat chandelier, a figure in black waits. He is impeccably dressed for an ex-military man, from his double-breasted coat to his mirror polished boots. With a face far too flawless and cuticles scrubbed so clean they shine, he would seem more suited for the front of a men's magazine than to the Service of his country. Immediately, Fisk deduces that a) either he is a man that doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, or b) he does a damned good job of cleaning up after himself. The faint scar above the lanky Alpha's trigger finger would suggest the latter. Fisk smiles warmly. “Mr. Russo, is it?” 

The dark-eyed brunet nods. 

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person, I'm---” 

“I know who you are,” Russo grinds out. Apparently his manners don't match his looks. “What is it you want?” 

“If I were you” Fisk warns, “I would be a bit more hesitant in biting the hand that feeds me.” Fisk’s eyes narrow as he secures the last loop in place and jams the tie beneath his lapel. “Besides, you already know, and since it would seem you are a man of few words and even less time for pleasantries it would be best to inform me of whether or not you are interested in acquiescing to my request.”

“If i wasn't interested, I wouldn’t be here.” 

Fisk's smile widens a bit. “I thought as much.” This isn't the first mission Agent Russo has run for him. Over the past year, Fisk has sent the young Alpha on side-missions and scavenger hunts prepping him. Testing his willingness, his effectiveness and his drive to obey, all in preparation for the main event. “Before I delve into the details, I would be inclined to ask you a few questions.” He gestures to the living area: two identical white sofas facing each other, an oval table made from one cut of glass in between them. 

Russo's eyes flit about the room, tracking the movements of Wesley as he drifts behind, and marking the placements of every camera and every man posted guard. 

Fisk sighs and sits down, holding a hand out in front of the vacant couch. “You are in absolutely no danger here, Agent Russo, I can assure you.”

“Sorry,” Russo lies. “It's just…I get a little itchy without my gear.”

Fisk nods. “I can understand that, as I am certain you can understand why my men could not let you in without first unburdening you of your weapons.”

“Yeah...I guess.” Uneasily, he slides down into the plush cushions. 

The young Alpha seems to relax a bit more with an offering of whiskey over crushed ice. Fisk produces an envelope from his pocket, sliding it across the table to him. 

He looks at it oddly for a moment before examining its contents, flipping through the crisp bills inside before leveling his eyes back to Fisk's.

“A thank-you,” Fisk explains. “For your invaluable service to Our cause.” 

“There’s a hell of a lot more in here than what my “help” has been worth,” Billy murmurs and Fisk chuckles. 

“Handsome and intuitive,” Fisk praises cooly, taking another sip. “Included in that amount is also a down-payment of sorts. Think of it as an incentive to do your exceptional best in the next mission.” 

Russo raises an eyebrow. 

“My Associate, Wesley will brief you further, but there is a matter of a certain District Attorney that has been getting a bit too close for comfort on quite a number of our dealings. It would be mutually beneficial if we were to dispose of the problem, one way or the other.”

“Well I can guess the ‘One Way’,” Russo mutters into his glass, the reflection of the liquid dancing in his mercurial eyes. “But what's the ‘other’ that you're referring to?”

“It's just an idea,” Fisk says, doing his best to sound disinterested, “But the Attorney in question is an Omega…” 

Russo's eyebrow raises curiously. 

“...and I can just imagine the many uses an unmated Omega could fulfill in your...Organization.”


End file.
